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OLE  MARSTER 

AND  OTHER  VERSES 


THE  VALENTINE  MUSEUM 
RICHMOND,  VIRGINIA 


OLE  MARSTER 

AND  OTHER  VERSES 


By 
BENJAMIN  B.  VALENTINE 


RICHMOND.  VA. 

WHITTET  &  SHEPPERSON,  PRINTERS 
1921 


COPYRIGHT,  1921 
BY  THE  VALENTINE  MUSEUM 


From  the  Press  of  Whittet  &  Shepperson 
Richmond,  Va. 


lila  fleabe  Valentine 


4701b3 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

FOREWORD    9 

OLE  MARSTER 13 

KEEP  ER-GRINNIN'    1 22 

DE  OLE  FIDDLER  25 

STUDY'N'  'BOUT  CHRIS'MUS  29 

CHRIS'MUS  IN  MY  BONES 32 

DE  OLE  BATTERED  BANJO 33 

WAITIN'  IN  DE  SUNSHINE 35 

IZE  BOUND  FER  OLE  HANOVER 37 

BRESH  'EM  'WAY   39 

DE  HOE-CAKE  WALK  41 

STUDY'N'  HOW  TER  KEEP  FRUM   GITTIN'  SHOOK 

DOWN    44 

GRASSHOPPERS   46 

DE  SHUCKIN'  o'  DE  CORN 48 

UNCLE  JOE 50 

LITTLE  MISTISS  •  53 

MAMMY'S  CHARGE   56 

AFTER  THE  WAR 58 

THE  RACE  QUESTION 60 

RECONSTRUCTION    64 

THE  PESSIMIST   66 

RUMINATIONS    68 

CONTENTMENT    70 

THE  POINT  OF  VIEW 71 

THE  DUCK 75 

THE  KING  CORN  MAN 78 

THE  TRAVELLERS    80 

DE  POT  WHAR  CALL'  DE  KITTLE  BLACK 84 


MONOLOGUES 

AUNT  DINAH  AT  THE  FAIR 91 

DAT  BOY 94 

THE  MARCH  OF  THE  LODGES 98 

SPEECH  OF  THE  REV.  GABRIEL  GIZZARDFORT  ON 
THE  CELEBRATION  OF  THE  FOURTEENTH  COM 
MANDMENT  101 

ASTRONOMICAL  OBSERVATIONS   105 

DAT  'LEC'RIC  CYAR 109 

SEEING  THE  CIRCUS  n2 

A  FIRE  INSURANCE  POLICY 115 


Foreword 

SOUTHERN  negroes  brought  up  by  "Ole  Mar- 
ster"  and  "Ole  Mistis,"  and  even  descendants  of 
these  dear,  dark  folk  who  inherited  their  char 
acter,  manners,  speech  and  devotion  to  "we  all's  white 
folks"  are  rapidly  becoming  mere  tradition,  and  with 
them  is  passing  from  the  American  scene  something 
vital,  something  precious.  Time  never  was  when  they 
could  have  been  understood,  much  less  interpreted  by 
any  not  of  the  soil  and  to  the  manner  born — by  which 
is  meant  the  white  people  who  were  associated  with 
them  in  a  relation  unique  then  and  impossible  now, 
whom  they  loved  and  served  and  who  loved  and  served 
them. 

The  survival  long  after  The  War  Between  the 
States  of  many  instances  of  this  relation  enabled  a 
later  day  to  know  and  appreciate  these  humble  but 
interesting  folk.  A  Virginian  who  possessed  a  su 
preme  gift  for  interpreting  them  so  that  through  his 
work  they  will  live  always  in  a  world  which  he  him 
self  has  left,  was  Benjamin  Batchelder  Valentine. 

Both  nature  and  circumstances  fitted  him  for  the 
work.  To  inherited  gifts  of  heart  and  mind  was  added 
liberal  culture,  both  intellectual  and  spiritual.  During 
his  formative  years  an  ample  home — an  old  and  storied 
Richmond  mansion,  whose  rooms  were  filled  with 
books  and  treasures  of  artistic  and  sentimental  value — 
provided  the  setting  for  wholesome  family  life.  It  was 


a  home  to  which  faithful  colored  folk  contributed  com 
fort  and  dignity — a  home  in  whose  walled  garden  flow 
ers  bloomed  and  the  laughter  of  the  children  of  the 
house  and  their  dusky  playfellows  from  the  servants' 
quarters  mingled  with  song  of  bird  and  plash  of  foun 
tain. 

The  head  of  this  house  was  comrade,  guide  and 
example  to  his  sons.  To  his  servants  he  was  the  friend 
and  protector  who  inspired  loyalty.  He  would  have 
been  in  earlier  days  an  ideal  "Ole  Marster." 

In  such  an  environment  Benjamin  Batchelder  Valen 
tine  learned  to  "know  by  heart"  the  old-time  colored 
folk.  To  see  and  hear  him  impersonate  them  was  an 
unforgettable  experience.  His  interpretations  were 
always  in  verse,  but  they  were  no  ordinary  dialect 
verse.  Under  the  quaint  humor  which  bubbled  on  their 
surface  flowed  a  deep  current  whose  echo  could  be 
heard  in  his  mellow,  lilting  voice,  for  all  its  contagious 
chuckles,  and  which  could  be  glimpsed  in  his  expres 
sive  eyes  for  all  their  merry  twinkling — showing  that 
with  fine  imagination,  with  sympathy  amounting  to 
genius,  he  felt  at  once  the  picturesque  traits  of  his 
subjects  which  shallower  interpreters  are  prone  to  cari 
cature  and  their  mental  and  spiritual  processes. 
Whether  or  not  the  philosophy  which  was  a  marked 
characteristic  of  these  simple  souls  was  an  original 
development  or  was  imbibed  from  their  "white  folks" 
and  passed  on  in  intensified  form  to  their  "white 
folks'  "  children,  is  impossible  to  say,  but  as  seen  in  the 
work  of  "Ben  Valentine"  it  is  as  typical  of  the  inter 
preter  as  of  the  interpreted.  Each  portrait  in  the  gal- 


lery  which  his  negro  verse  comprises  is  sketched  with 
unerring  touch  from  some  point  of  vantage  peculiar  to 
itself,  and  the  whole  thus  presents,  as  nearly  complete 
as  could  be  within  bounds  so  circumscribed,  a  visualiza 
tion  of  a  vanishing  race. 

Here  are  flawlessly  reproduced  its  terse  and  engag 
ing  phrase,  its  ingenious  vocabulary ;  here  are  its  origi 
nal  whimsicalities  and  delightful  absurdities.  All  of 
this  is  well  worth  preserving,  but  here  is,  in  addition, 
something  more  subtle,  more  salient — its  philosophy, 
whose  interpretation  was  to  "Ben  Valentine"  as  spon 
taneous  as  breathing,  being  his  own. 

In  "Keep  a  Grinnm',"  for  instance,  he  was  pic 
turing  the  attitude  toward  life  of  the  old-time  colored 
person  of  Virginia,  but  he  was  also  describing  out  of 
his  own  heart  the  cheerful  face  which  he — like  that 
passing  figure — had  learned,  with  a  grit  which  was 
heroic,  with  a  trust  in  God  which  was  sublime,  to  turn 
upon  adversity.  Adversity  in  his  case  meaning  a  long 
battle  with  illness  which  brought  him  down  at  the  flush 
of  life  in  a  world  which  to  him  was  always  radiant, 
for  it  reflected  his  own  radiant  spirit,  and  ended  that 
life  when  it  was  still  in  its  prime. 

MARY  NEWTON  STANARD. 


OLE  MARSTER 


Fetch  in  some  mo'  de  big  logs,  Sam — hyer  nigger, 

shet  dat  doh — 
My  Marster!  how  de  snow  come  down  an'  how  de 

win'  do  blow ! 
Dem  draughts  through  dat  'ar  broken  pane  gwine  kill 

me,  dat  dey  is, 
Dey's  blowin'  right  squar'  on  de  place  whar'  I  got 

rheumatiz. 

Pitch  on  de  lot  er  light-wood  chips,  an'  poke  dat 

fire  ergain, 
Please    stuff    yo'    mammy's    petticoat    in    dat    'ar 

broken  pane, 
An  tek  de  skillet  off  de  hook — dat  chimley's  got  ter 

draw. 
My !  but  dis  snow  is  mighty  like  dat  snow  befo'  de 

war! 

It  meks  me  kind  er  creepy-like  ter  heah  dat  howlin' 

win' ; 

It  soun'  like  critters  in  de  cole  er-whinin'  ter  git  in, 
An'  dem  big  gusts  dey  waves  de  pines  an'  keeps  'em 

moanin'  so — 
Jes'  listen!   ain't  dat  folks  whar's  los'  er-hollerin' 

"Yo-o-o"? 


14  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 


'Tain'  nothin' — I  wuz  wand'rin,  Son,  'way  back  ter 

fifty-six, 
I  clean  fergot  'bout  dis  hyer  time  an'  all  de  years 

ertwix. 
Ole  folks  don'  need  no  mem'ry  strings  ter  call  ole  times 

ter  min', 
Dey  jes'  finds  written  on  dey  hearts  de  tallies  o'  de 

time. 

Dat  night  Ole  Marster  sent  me  roun'  ter  see  de 

critters  housed, 
Kase,  as  de  overseer  wuz  sick,  he  didn'  want  him 

'roused, 
An'  when  I  got  back  f  rum  my  roun's,  I  wuz  er  shiverin' 

so, 
I  come  nigh  gwine  in  de  hall  fo'  I  stomp  off  de 

snow. 

I  see  folks  in  de  dinin'-room,  so  I  went  back  in  dyar 
Ter  'port  ter  Marster  whar  I'd  been,  an'  how  de 

critters  fyar. 
Dat  room  ain'  need  no  candle  light,  nor  Suh,  de  big 

fire  dorgs 
Hel'  out  dey  brass  arms  chock  right  full  er  blazin' 

hic'ry  lorgs, 


Ole  Marster  15 


An'  on  de  rug  befo'  de  fire,  enjoyin'  er  de  heat, 
Blin'   Ponto,  kind   er   drowsy-like,   lay   stretch'   at 

Marster's  feet, 

An'  Mistiss  wuz  er-sittin'  on  er  cricket  by  his  side 
Er-heah'in    Marster  tell   about   de  time   she   wuz   er 

bride. 


Dey  saw  dat  I  wuz  nigh  'bout  friz,  frum  trampin'  in 

de  storm, 
So  dey  jes'  kep'  me  by  de  fire  'till  I  felt  nice  an' 

warm, ; 
An'  Mistiss  know'd  what  niggers  like;  she  fotch' 

some  bread  an'  ham, 
An'  den,  ter  warm  dem  vittals  up,  she  pour'  me  out 

er  dram. 


You'll   'scuse  me  tellin'  such  as  dat  an'  ramblin' 

frum  de  trac', 
But   Marster  kep'  de  kin'   er  dram   folks  always 

raccolac' ; 
Besides,  dem  vittals  an'  dat  dram  wuz  mighty  useful 

too, 
I  needed  all  de  strength  dey  gin  befo'  dat  night  wuz 

through. 


1 6  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

Jes'  time  I  tuk  dat  drink  I  hear  er  big  fuss  in  de 

hall, 
An'  Lindy  Smith  bus'  in  de  room  er-hollerin'  fo'  us 

all: 
"Lord,  Marster !  He'p  me  git  my  chile,  she  gwine  die, 

sart'in  sho', 
"Lord,  Marster!  Fin'  my  little  gal  whar's  los'  out  in 

de  snow ! 


When  I  wuz  'way  her  drunken  pa  sent  her  off  ter 

de  sto', 
An'  now  she's  been  de  Lord  knows  whar',  nigh  'bout 

three  hours  or  mo' !" 
Wid  dat  she  drap  right  down  an'  mourn,  like  she  done 

gone  distrac', 
An'  Mistiss  knelt  an'  smooth  her  haid  an  bring  her 

senses  back. 


Ole   Marster   fotch'   his   big   slouch   hat  an'   his  tall 

hic'ry  stick; 
He  made  me  git  his  lantern  out  an'  trim  an'  light 

de  wick; 
An'  time  he  put  his  thick  boots  on,  an'  button'  up  his 

coat, 
Ole  Mistiss  had  his  muffler  warm  an'  tuck  it  roun' 

his  throat. 


Ole  Marster  17 


He  wuz  er  mighty  likely  man — nigh  on  ter  six  foot 

three— 
An'  hel'  hisself,  at  sixty-five,  as  straight  as  straight 

could  be; 
He  look'  de  gen'ral  in  his  cloak,  one  han'  thrus'  in  his 

bres', 
His  long  cape  flap  flung  careless  'cross  his  shoulder 

an'  his  ches'. 

De  win'  wuz  high  when  we  went  out ;  de  snow  whirl' 

roun'  an'  roun' ; 
It  pour'  down  on  us  frum  de  clouds;  den  blew  up 

frum  de  groun'. 
Teared  like  de  sperits  er  de  a'r  wan'  fight  us  han'  ter 

han', 
An'  ev'y  sperit  in  de  fight  had  tuk  ter  flingin'  san'. 

I  see   right   now   de  home  lights   fade;   I   heah   Ole 

Marster  speak: — 
"You  search  de  main  road;  I  will  take  de  pathway 

'cross  de  creek. 
Be  careful ;  'zamine  all  de  road ;  zig-zag  frum  side  ter 

side. 
You  are  not  likely  ter  git  los',  de  fence  will  be  yo' 

guide." 


1 8  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

Dar  'twuz — de  marster  tuk  de  path,   de  nigger  tuk 

de  road — 
Dar  wan'  no  fence  ter  guide  him  by,  an'  dat  Ole 

Marster  know'd. 
'Twuz  like  de  blue-blood  cappen  man  ter  take  de 

dang'ous  lead, 
An'  do  it  like  twa'  nothin'  'tall  'cep'  nat'ral  ter  his 

breed. 


I  tuk  de  road,  but  sech  er  time  I  never  had  befo'; 
My  light  went  out  an'  I  jes'  grope  an'  couldn'  see 

ter  go. 
At  las'  I  cotch  hoi'  er  de  fence,  but  I  wuz  so  turn' 

roun* 
I  didn'  know  which  way  wuz  up  er  which  er-way  wuz 

down. 


I   got  so  col'  dat  I  would  fall — somehow  I  didn' 

cyar — 
I  jes'  would  wonder :  "Whar  is  I,  an'  what's  I  doin' 

dyar?" 

I  'spose  dat  I  wuz  gittin'  friz  an'  in  de  sleepy  state, 
And  dar  an'  den  I  stumble'  'pon  de  horse-block  by 

de  gate ; 


Ole  Marster  19 


Dat  wuz  er  mons'us  'couragement — it  woke  me  up 

right  smart; 
It  made  me  notice  in  de  snow  er  light  dat  made  me 

start. 
De  red  er  fire  wuz  in  de  a'r,  de  glow  wuz  nigh  an' 

far, 
I  couldn'  tell  whar  it  was  at,  bekase  'twuz  ev'ywhar. 


I  'spicioned  dat  de  great-house  den  wuz  gwine  in  er 

blaze, 
An'   so   I   wuk'  my  way  erlong,   do'   I   wuz   mighty 

daze' ; 
I   thought:    "My    Mistiss    mout   git   bu'nt — de  .Lord 

knows  what  gwine  'cur — 
But  ef  dis  nigger  dies  ter-night  he  wan'  ter  die  fer 

her." 


'Fo'  long  I  see,  nigh  ter  de  house,  dey'd  built  er  big 

bon-fire, 
An'  folks  wuz  bringin'  wood   an'   stuff  ter  set  it 

blazin'  higher; 
Wet  logs  wuz  pull'  frum  'neath  de  snow,  an'  pitch' 

upon  de  pile, 
But  in  dat  win'  dey  bu'nt  up  quick  like  dey  wuz  soak' 

wid  ile. 


2O  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

Dat  fire  wuz  built  ter  guide  us  by,  an'  sence  I'd 

gotten  home, 
We  all  wuz  'spectin'  any  time  ter  see  Ole  Marster 

come. 
All  through  de  night  de  bon-fire  bu'nt;  we  call/  an' 

wander'  roun' ; 
We  stood  an'  listen'  fer  er  voice,  but  never  heah'd  er 

soun'. 


Befo'  de  dawn  de  snow  hilt  up,  bekase  de  win'  had 

veer', 
An'  by  sun-up  de  clouds  had  lif  an'  lef  de  mornin' 

clear, 
Yet  still  de  win'   wuz  blowin'  hard,   an'  drif's   wuz 

ev'ywhar, 
Dey'd  pile  an'  pile  up  fer  er  spell,  den  leave  de 

places  byar. 


We  took  ter  searchin'  'bout  de  creek,  er-huntin'  up 

an   'down, 
An'  in  de  bushes  on  de  edge  Ole  Marster's  hat  wuz 

foun'. 
I  den  made  sho'  dat,  in  de  dark,  he'd  fallen  frum  de 

bank 
An'  plunge'  inter  de  freezin'  stream,  an'  dis  wuz  whar 

he  sank. 


Ole  Marster  21 


But  sudden-like,  Big  Aaron  call',  an'  time  I  tu'n  an' 

look, 
He  threw  his  han's  up  'fo'  his  eyes,  an'  hid  his  face 

an'  shook, 
An'  when  I  got  whar  he  wuz  at,  'bout  knee  deep  in 

de  snow, 
He  p'inted  'round'  but  didn'  speak,  he  wuz  er-cryin' 

so. 


Dyar  lay  Ole  Marster  in  de  drif,  stretch'  out  like  he 

wuz  'sleep; 
One  han'  wuz  holdin'  tight  his  cape  dat  covered  up 

er-heap, 

An'  as  I  lif  dat  icy  cape,  while  Aaron  gave  de  'larm, 
Dar  wuz  Sis'  Lindy's  little  gal,  dead,  in  Ole  Mars- 

ter's  arm. 


Put  down  dis  pipe  an'  han'  me,  Son,  dat  Bible  off  de 

shelf- 
Hi  !  dese  hyer  specs  keep  gettin'  wet — you'll  have  ter 

read  yo'self. 
Turn  ter  my  chapter ;  read  me  dat  'f o'  I  lay  down  ter 

res'; 

It's  'bout  de  Shepherd  an'  de  sheep  out  in  de  wilder 
ness. 


22  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 


KEEP  ER-GRINNIN'. 


When  you  heah  "Ole  Tribberlation"  come  er  tyarin' 

down  de  road, 
An'  you  know  he  gwine  ter  kotch  you  an*  you  got  ter 

byar  de  load ; 
When  you  feel  his  bridle  pullin',  an'  de  saddle  on 

yo'  back, 
An*  de  whip  is  wavin'  roun'  you,  an'  er  hittin',  ev'y 

crack — 
Den  remember  'bout  de  possum  whar  wuz  settin'  on  de 

lim', 
Wid  de  gun  er  p'intin'  at  him,  an'  de  dorgs  er  treein' 

him; 
How  he  holler  ter  de  hunter  an'  he  holler  ter  de 

houn' : 

"Ize  er  gwin'ter  keep  er-grinnin',  doh  I  spec'  you'll 
fotch  me  down." 


When  you  studies  'bout  de  bizness  whar  you's  vested 

ev'y  cent, 

An'  you  see  de  sheriff  comin'  fer  ter  en'  de  argyment — 
When  yo'  neighbors  tek  ter  biddin'  on  yo'  cabin  an* 
yo'  corn, 


Keep  Er-grinnin'  23 


An'   de   auctioneer's    er-holl'rin' :    "It's    er   gwine! 

gwine!  gone!" 
Den  remember  'bout  de  possum  whar  wuz  settin'  on  de 

lim', 
Wid  de  gun  er  p'intin'  at  him,  an'  de  dorgs  er  treein' 

him; 
How  he  holler  ter  de  hunter  an'  he  holler  ter  de 

houn' : 
"Ize  er  gwin'ter  keep  er-grinnin',  doh  I  spec'  you'll 

fotch  me  down." 


When  you  long  has  love  er  lady  an*  de  time  you's 

been  er-part 
She's  er  kep'  er  writin'  ter  you:  "You's  de  honey  uv 

my  heart." 
When  you  take  an'  draws  yo'  wages,  an'  you  hurry 

an'  you  has'e, 
An'  you  finds   er-nother  gem'man  wid  his  arm 

er-roun'  her  wase — 
Den  remember  'bout  de  possum  whar  wuz  settin'  on  de 

lim', 
Wid  de  gun  er  p'intin'  at  him,  an'  de  dorgs  er  treein' 

him; 
How  he  holler  ter  de  hunter  an'  he  holler  ter  de 

houn' : 

"Ize  er  gwin'ter  keep  er-grinnin',  doh  I  spec'  you'll 
fotch  me  down." 


24  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

When  you   feels  er  mighty  mis'ry  an'  yo'  stomach's 

kinder  bent, 
An'  de  doctor  starts  ter  projec'  wid  de  cuttin'  in- 

stru-ment ; 
When  he  lays  you  on  de  table  an'  er  standin'  by  yo' 

side, 
He's  er-twitchin'  an'  er-itchin'  ter  be  whittlin'  up 

yo'  hide— 
Den  remember  'bout  de  possum  whar  wuz  settin'  on  de 

lim', 
Wid  de  gun  er  p'intin'  at  him,  an'  de  dorgs  er  treein' 

him; 
How  he  holler  ter  de  hunter  an'  he  holler  ter  de 

houn' : 

"Ize  er  gwin'ter  keep  er-grinnin',  doh  I  spec'  you'll 
fotch  me  down." 


De  Ole  Fiddler  25 


DE  OLE  FIDDLER. 


De  moon  peeps  through  de  winder,  it  lights  de  cabin 

wall, 

It  falls  'pon  top  de  fiddle,  an'  voices  'pear  ter  call ; 
Dey  soun'  like  far  off  people — like  sperits  in  de 

moon, 

Whar  want  de  ole-time  fiddler  ter  play  er  ole-time 
chune. 


I  heahs  you  callin',  callin'.    Yas  Marsters,  I  gwine 

go— 
Dis  han'  is  mons'us  trim'lin',  it  sca'ce  can  hoi'  de 

bow, 

But  I'll  go  ter  de  great-house,  an'  po'ly  doh  I  feel, 
I'll  play  fer  you  dis  Chris'mus,  de  ole  "Virginny 
Reel." 


Hyer  I  is,  'twix'  de  pillars,  de  fiddle  in  my  han', 
De  moonlight  streamin'  on  me,  befo'  de  doh  I  stan' ; 
De   big   oak   grove   is   roun'   me,    de   low-grounds 

lie  in  sight, 

An'  home,  an'  fields,  an'  hillsides  gwine  heah  de 
Reel  ternight. 


26  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

Ah  me!  dem  moonlit  winders — dem  'flections  on  de 

pane — 
Dey  'claims  de  fire  is  lighted,  de  folks  is  home 

ergain; 
An'  dem  long  limbs  er-tappin'  like  feet  dat  trippin' 

g°> 

Dey  says  de  folks  is  comin'  ter  dance  de  Reel  once 
mo'. 


Dem  mus'  be  mo'  'en  shadows  whar  move  erbout  de 

walk, 
Dem  mus'  be  mo'  'en  pine  trees  whar  talk  dat  lovers' 

talk; 

An'  dat  ar  soun'  like  satin,  er-rustlin'  'cross  er  floh, 
Sho'  dat  ain'  dead  leaves  stirrin'  er-roun'  de  shet  up 
doh. 


'Tain'  jes'  er  spell  whar's  on  me — I  ain'  jes'  crazy  ole — 
I  say  de  house  ain'  empty,  de  rooms  ain'  dark  an' 

col'. 

Can't  I  heah  ladies  talkin'?  Can't  I  see  all  de  light? 
Ain'  dis  me  an'  de  fiddle?  Ain'  dis  hyer  Chris'mus 
night  ? 


De  Ole  Fiddler  27 


Dey's  come!  Dey's  come  fer  Chris'mus,  all  dem  whar 

went  erway ; 
Dey's  callin'  fer  de  fiddler,  dey  wants  ter  heah  him 

play. 
I'll  meet  'em  an'  I'll  greet  'em—  I'll  'scort  'em  ter  de 

floh— 

Dis  bow  an'  string  gwine  fyarly  sing  de  Chris'mus 
chunes  once  mo'. 

Git  out  hyer  banjo-nigger,  fling  'way  dat  plunkin' 

thing ! 

I  cuts  an'  calls  de  figger,  de  fiddle  is  de  king. 
Jes'  heah  him  talkin'  tender,  jes'  heah  his  laughin' 

ring; 

Prepyar  yo'  feet  fer  pattin',  de  fiddle's  gwin'ter 
sing. 

Choose    yo'    partners,    gem'men    all — gem'men    all — 

gem'men  all — 
Choose  yo'  partners,  gem'men  all — partners  fer  de 

ball. 
Tek  yo'  little  sweetheart's  han',  tek  an'  hoi'  it 

while  you  can, 
Doh  she  'bleege'  ter  blush  an'  start  wid  de  flut- 

t'rin'  er  de  heart — 
Dat  ar  heart  you  gwin'ter  steal  when  she  dances  in  de 

Reel. 
Oh!  how  happy  fiddlers  feel — fiddlers  feel — fiddlers 

feel— 
Oh !  how  happy  fiddlers  feel  when  dey  play  de  Reel. 


Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 


Fus'  two  ladies  down  de  lane  —  down  de  lane  —  down 

de  lane  — 
Fus'    two    ladies    down    de    lane  —  ban's    ercross    an' 

back  ergain  — 
E>en  de  gem'men  does  de  same,  dat's  de  way  ter 

play  de  game. 
Gallavantin',  flirtin',  courtin',  trippin',  tippin',  fyarly 

floatin', 
Light  as  wind  on  toe  an'  heel,  dat's  de  way  ter  dance 

de  Reel. 
Oh!  how  happy  fiddlers   feel  —  fiddlers   feel  —  fiddlers 

feel- 
On  !  how  happy  fiddlers  feel  when  dey  play  de  Reel. 

Ev'y   body    march   er-roun'  —  march    er-roun'  —  march 

er-roun'  — 
Ev'y   body   march   er-roun'  —  steppin'    ter   de    fiddle's 

soun' 
'Till  yo'  own  true  loves  is  foun'  —  kase  you'll  fin'  'em 

I  be  boun'. 
Who-some-ever  you  mout  seen,  whar-some-ever 

you  mout  been, 
You  gwine  meet  'em  at  de  en'  —  meet  yo'  true 

loves,  gentlemen. 
Den  de  weddin'  bells  gwine  peal  at  de  endin'  er  de 

Reel. 
Oh!  how  happy  fiddlers   feel  —  fiddlers   feel  —  fiddlers 

feel- 
On  !  how  happy  fiddlers  feel  when  dey  play  de  Reel. 


Study'ri  'bout  Chris'mus  29 


STUDY'N'  'BOUT  CHRIS'MUS. 


De  Chris'mus  uv  de  good  ole  times 
Is  gone,  an'  dat's  er  fac'; 

'Tain'  nothin'  'tall  dat  I  knows  er 
Gwine  bring  dat  Chris'mus  back. 


De  niggers  an'  de  white-folks  now 
Is  drif'in'  wide  erpart, 

An'  love  whar  'sisted  'twix'  de  two 
Is  done  desart  de  heart. 


De  niggers  does  like  dey  don'  cyar; 
De  white-folks  'pear  ter  say: 

"While  we  walks  'long  on  dis  hyer  paf 
You  go  'long  dat  er  way." 


'Tain'  no  Ole  Mistiss  now  ter  please; 
'Tain'  no  Ole  Marster's  han' 

Ter  'spense  ter  darkies  roun'  de  place 
De   fatness   er   de   Ian. 


30  Ole  Marstcr  and  Other  V 


erses 


'Tain'  no  big  smoke-house,  chock  right  full 
Er  ham  an'  chine  an'  side, 

Ner  celler  whar  de  'lasses  flow, 
An'  sperits  allus  bide. 

'Tain'  no  mo'  rations  I  kin  draw, 
Ner  clothes  g'in  me  ter  w'ar, 

'Tain'  no  white-folks  gwi'  mek  aig-nogg 
An'  save  dis  nigger's  shar'. 

Ole  Mistiss  done  it,  dat  she  did, 
She  dip  it  out  de  bowl 

An'  say :  "Hyer,  Silas,  have  er  glass, 
De  night  is  ve'y  col'. 

An'  tek  dis  other  ter  Aun'  Jane — 
Don't  tas'e  it,  'strain  yo'self ; 

I  wants  her  too,  at  Chris'mus  time, 
Ter  drink  her  Marster's  helf." 

'Twuz  mons'us  hard  ter  cyar  dat  glass 
Fur  as  de  cabin  doh, 

Kase  once  you  tas'es  dat  aig-nogg 
You  gwine  ter  wan'  some  mo'. 


Study'n3  'bout  Chris'mus  31 

An'  Satan,  too,  keep  temp'in'  me ; 
He  try  ter  mek  me  think 

Dat  half  er  glass  sho'  is  ernough 
Fer  women-folks  ter  drink. 

But  whar's  de  use  uv  dealin'  wid 
De  things  an'  times  gone  by — 

It  jes'  he'ps  mek  young  niggers  mad, 
An'  ole  ones  wan'  ter  cry. 

But  how-some-never  dat  mout  be, 
I  hoi'  it  am'  no  crime 

Ter  miss  dem  things  I  use'  ter  git 
At  dat  ole  Chris'mus  time. 

Ef  I  had  fifty  cents  dis  night 
I'd  burn  dat  Chris'mus  lorg; 

I'd  git  de  milk  an'  beat  de  aigs, 
An'  mek  me  some  aig-nogg, 

An'  time  I  got  dem  'gredients  mix' 
I'd  lif  de  glass,  like  dis— 

An'  tek  an'  drene  it  ter  de  drugs 
In  'membrance  ter  "Ole  Miss." 


32  Ole  Marstcr  and  Other  Verses 


CHRIS'MUS  IN  MY  BONES. 


I  done  sold  my  load  er  hay, 
I  done  gone  an'  got  de  pay, 
I  ain'  gwine  ter  wuk  ter-day — 
Chris'mus  in  my  bones. 

Dis  hyer  jug  is  full  er  rum, 
Tears  like  Ize  er-needin'  some, 
Yas !    I  'spec'  de  time  done  come — 
Chris'mus  in  my  bones. 

I  hyers  you  gwine  Glug!  Glug!  Glug! 
I  don'  need  ter  use  no  mug, 
I  gwine  fling  'way  dis  hyer  plug — 
Chris'mus  in  my  bones. 

Dat's  de  stuff  whar  drowns  yo'  cyar, 
Dat's  de  juice  whar  makes  you  r'ar, 
Ize  so  happy!    Wah!    Hoop-la — 
Chris'mus  in  my  bones. 

Nor  Suh,  Marster !  Who  drunk  ?  Me? 
Ize  ez  straight  ez  straight  kin  be. 
'Pears  right  strange  dat  you  cyan'  see — 
Chris'mus  in  my  bones. 


De  Ole  Battered  Banjo  33 


DE  OLE  BATTERED  BANJO. 


When  lone,  'fo'  de  fire,  I  sets  in  de  evening 

An'  studies  'bout  pictures  I  sees  in  de  flame, 
I  feels  like  Ize  back  on  Ole  Marster's  plantation, 

An*  lives  wid  de  darkies  at  quarters  again. 
I  smells  de  cook'  possum,  I  tastes  de  roas'  'taters; 

I  sees  de  gals  grinnin'  an'  dancin'  wid  joy; 
An  'den  I  reach  out  fer  ter  finger  de  banjo, 

De  ole  battered  banjo  I  played  when  a  boy. 
De  sweet  singin'  banjo,  de  clear  ringin'  banjo, 
De  ole  battered  banjo  I  played  when  a  boy. 

I  'low  dat  dat  banjo  wan'  much  fer  ter  look  at, 

Kase  niggers  an'  chillun  done  handle'  it  rough, 
But  Marster  an'  Mistiss  dey  love  fer  ter  heah  it, 

An'  playin'  fer  dem  two  wuz  pleasure  sho  'nuff. 
Fer  all  de  big  parties  an'  dances  an'  weddin's 

Dis  nigger  de  whi'  folks  would  allus  employ, 
An'  how  dey  did  dance  when  dey  heah  me  a  pickin' 

De  ole  battered  banjo  I  played  when  a  boy. 
De  fun  flingin'  banjo,  de  gal  slingin'  banjo, 
De  ole  battered  banjo  I  played  when  a  boy. 


34  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

Oh,  gone  is  de  days  uv  de  dancin'  an'  singin'; 

De  quarters  is  ruin',  de  great  house  is  clos'; 
An'  whar,  in  de  ole  times,  de  music  wuz  ringin' 

De  high  grass  is  growin'  'roun'  shet  cabin  dohs. 
De  banjo's  head's  bu'sted,  de  strings  is  all  broken, 

De  chilluns  done  taken  its  frame  f er  a  toy ; 
An'  all  de  sweet  voices  whar  j'ined  in  our  chorus 

Is  hush'  like  de  banjo  I  played  when  a  boy. 
De  low  sobbin'  banjo,  de  tear  bringin'  banjo, 
De  ole  battered  banjo  I  played  when  a  boy. 


Written   for   Polk   Miller   and   sung  by  him.     Music  by 
Jacob  Reinhardt. 


Waitiri  in  de  Sunshine  35 


WAITIN'  IN  DE  SUNSHINE. 


De  darkies   all   have   wandered,   an'   lef   me   hyer 

behind ; 
Dey  wuz  talkin'  'bout  me  might'ly,  an'  dey  claim  I 

los'  my  mind, 
For  dey  say  I  wuz  de  bigges'  fool-nigger  dey  ever 

saw, 

Jes'   kase   I   love  de  good   white    folks   whar   live 
befo'  de  war. 


CHORUS : 

Gone,  gone  is  all  frum  out  de  quarters  an'  de  Hall; 
Gone,  gone,  de  laughin'  an'  de  joy. 
As  I  sets  hyer  in  de  sun,  my  mind  still  studies  'pon 
Dem  happy,  happy  times  gone  by. 

I  ain'  got  no  mo'  strength  fer  ter  hill  de  growin' 

corn, 
An'  I  feels  so  mons'us  po'ly  dat  I  wakes  befo'  de 

morn, 


36  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

An'   I   has   a   kind   o'   'spicion   dat   I'll    lose   my 

hyerin'  soon 
Kase   I   never  heahs   ole   Ranger   doh   dey   say  he 

bays  de  moon. 

CHORUS  : 
Gone,  gone,  etc. 

Ize  settin'  hyer  an'  waitin'  to  kotch   de  welcome 

sounf 
O'  de  angel  dat  will  tek  me  whar  de  'ternal  res'  is 

foun', 
An'   I   ain't   afeared   ter   foller   kase   I  know   he'll 

tek  me  sho', 

An'  Ize  gwine  ter  keep  on  waitin'  in  de  sunshine 
'fo'  de  doh. 

CHORUS  : 
Gone,  gone,  etc. 


Ize  Bonn'  fer  Ole  Hanover  37 


IZE  BOUN'  FER  "OLE  HANOVER." 


Ize  boun'    fer   "Ole  Hanover",   I   live'   dyar   'fo'   de 

war; 
Dyar's  whar  Ize  had  he  happies'  times  dis  nigger 

ever  saw. 
I   knows   de   roads   is   miry,   de   creeks   is    runnin' 

high, 

But  down  ter  "Ole  Hanover"  I'll  git,  'cep'  'tis  I 
die.  ^ 

I  am'  got  time  ter  projec',  Ize  'bleege  ter  git  erlong; 
Ize  'feared  the  dark  will  kotch  me,  an'  some'n  mout 

go  wrong. 
I  done  heah  tell  dat  sperits  roams  roun'  de  swamp 

er  nights, 
De  sperits  er  dem  soldiers  whar  git  kill'  in  de  fights. 

I  dunno  what  dey  does  dyar,  or  what  dey  gwine 

ter  say, 

But  you  jes'  heah  me,  honey,  I  wan'  keep  out  de  way. 
Dey's  fit  once  kase  er  niggers,  an',  I  don'  cyar  who 

,win, 

I  don'  wan'  no  contention  'bout  dis  hyer  nigger 
'gin. 


38  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

I  knows  I  ain'  got  nothin'  on  'count  er  dat  ar  war, 
'Cep'  'tis  dey  allus  gins  me  de  full  'stent  er  de  law. 
In  all  er  sech  contentions  what  is  de  bone  gwine 

get? 

It   'pears  like,   mos'   in   gin'ral,  de  bone   is  gwine 
be  et. 

But  sence  I  talks  er  eatin',  I  jes'  wan'  let  you  know 
Dat  down  in  "Ole  Hanover"  is  de  place  fer  vittals, 

sho'. 
Dey's   allus  killin'   chickens,   dey   eats   'em   ev'y 

day, 

Dey's  got  so  much  fri'  chicken  dey  flings  de  tough 
ones  'way. 

An'  as  fer  watermillons,  dey's  big  ez  ever  grew ; 

Ize  got  ter  see  dat  nigger  whar  handles  mo'  'en 

two. 
Dese  little  eight-cent  millons  folks  sells  up  in  de 

town, 

Down    dyar    dey's    same    ez    nubbins    and    chillun 
kicks   'em   roun'. 

Ize  got  ter  be  er-movin',  Ize  ridin'  "Shanks's  myar," 
Jes'    kotch    dat    smell    er    vittals    dey's    cookin'    way 

down  dyar. 
Ize  comin',   "Ole  Hanover,"    I   let  you  know   Ize 

glad- 
Save  me  some  dat  fri'  chicken,  I  wants  it  mons'us 
bad. 


Bresh  'Em  Way  39 


BRESH  'EM  'WAY. 


When  you  fus'  heah  de  buzzin'  er  de  blues, 

Bresh  'em  'way! 
It's  er  gwine  ter  tek  heap  mo'  'en  sayin'  "Shoos," 

Bresh  'em  'way! 

Sence  dey  scratches  an'  dey  fights, 
An'  you  gits  sick  when  dey  bites, 
Sock  it  ter  'em  'fo'  dey  lights, 

Bresh  'em  'way! 

CHORUS  : 

Bresh  'em  'way,  oh  my  brother!     Bresh  'em  'way! 

Don'  you  let  'em  cotch  er  holt  o'  you  an'  stay. 

Wid  dey  sharp  teef  an'  dey  claws 

Dey  jes  digs  in  you  an'  gnaws, 

Bresh  'em  'way !    Bresh  'em  'way !    Bresh  'em  'way ! 

Time  er  lie  start  ter  whisper,  "Ize  yo'  man," 

Bresh  it  'way! 
Time  it  promise  fer  ter  he'p  you  all  it  can, 

Bresh  it  'way! 
Ef  you  let  dat  little  lie 
Git  its  wings  an'  start  ter  fly 
It'll  bite  you  bye-an'-bye. 

Bresh  it  'way! 

CHORUS  : 
Bresh  it  'way,  etc. 


40  Ole  Marstcr  and  Other  Verses 

When  de  drink  holler  ter  you  "Hyer's  yo'  fren' !" 

Bresh  it  'way! 
When  it  tell  you,  "You's  ez  strong  ez  other  men." 

Bresh  it  'way! 

'Fo'  you  stumble  an'  you  stutter, 
'Fo'  you's  flung  inter  de  gutter, 
'Fo'   you's   los'  yo'  bread  and  butter, 

Bresh  it  'way ! 

CHORUS : 
Bresh  it  'way,  etc. 

Ef  tem'tation  come  an'  ax  you,  "How  you  does?" 

Bresh  it  'way ! 
When  it  say,  "Ize  been  er-wond'rin'  whar  you  wuz." 

Bresh  it  'way ! 

Doh  er  sof,  sweet-talkin'  crittei, 
Dat's  er  powerful  hard  hitter, 
It's  de  devil's  own  man-gitter. 

Bresh  it  'way ! 

CHORUS : 
Bresh  it  'way,  etc. 


De  Hoe-cake  Walk  41 


DE  HOE-CAKE  WALK. 


De  bull-frog  jumps  when  he  wants  ter  git  erlong; 
De  mockin'-bird  hops  'fo'  he  larn  ter  sing  er  song; 
De  ox  is  kinder  willin'  doh  he  gwine  ter  move 

slow, 

But  it  teks  er  heap  o'  projic'  ter  mek  er  mule  go. 
Dem,  critters  ain'  lackin'  in  de  natchul  parts, 
Dey  jes'  don'  study  'fo'  dey  meks  dey  starts; 
Chillun  got  ter  think  'fo'  dey  knows  how  ter  talk, 
An'  it  teks  edgycashun  fer  de  Hoe-cake  walk. 
Hoe-cake  walk!     Hoc-cake  walk! 
Git  edgycashun  fer  de  Hoe-cake  walk. 

It  gwine  tek  science,  an'  de  way  ter  git  de  swing 
Is  ter  keep   er-totin'   water   on  yo'   haid   frum  de 

spring; 
An'  when  you  done  cotch  it  you  gwine  meet  yo' 

match 
Till  you  totes  watermillons  on  yo'  haid  frum  de 

patch. 

Balancin'  dem  millons  is  mons'us  hard  ter  do, 
But  I  kin  tek  an'  tote  'em  when  I  done  eat  two. 
I  jes'  steps  spry,  an'  I  don'  never  balk. 
O,  I  is  de  King  o'  de  Hoe-cake  walk. 
Hoe-cake  walk!     Hoe-cake  walk! 
I  is  de  King  er  de  Hoe-cake  walk. 


42  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

You  w'ars  er  white  ves'  fer  ter  git  de  right  tone, 
You  'bleege  ter  look  proud  like  de  earth  wuz  yourn, 
You  smiles  at  de  gals,  an'  you  bows  perlite 
Doh  you's  counted  mighty  danj'us  when  you  gits 

inter  er  fight. 

I  step  so  sof,  an'  I  tread  so  true, 
De  folks  never  'spicions  'bout  de  razor  in  my  shoe. 
Ef  er  nigger  sass  me  he  got  ter  walk  chalk, 
I  protects  de  ladies  in  de  Hoe-cake  walk. 
Hoe-cake  walk!    Hoe-cake  walk! 
Gran'  promernade  fer  de  Hoe-cake  walk. 

De  clos'  I  w'ars  is  all  bran'  new, 

(I  knows  white- folks  whar  is  lookin'  fer  'em  too), 

I  gits  my  style  frum  de  quality  folks; 

I  gits  my  fun  out  de  almanac  jokes; 
I  gits  my  strength  out  er  eatin'  hoe-cakes, 
An*  I  gits  my  sperits  out  de  sperits  I  takes, 

But  de  possum  I  tackles  wid  de  knife  an'  fork 

Dat  supples  up  de  j'ints  fer  de  Hoe-cake  walk. 
Hoe-cake  walk!    Hoc-cake  walk! 
He  up  de  j'ints  fer  de  Hoe-cake  zvalk. 


De  Hoe-cake  Walk  43 

Fotch  out  dem  gals,  I  want  ter  crown  de  queen ; 
Bring  de  likesomes'  nigger  whar  ever  wuz  seen. 
Her  lily  white  han'  she'll  lay  in  mine, 
An'  de  king  an'  de  queen  gwine  march  down  de 

line. 

I'll  step  ter  de  throne,  an'  set  her  dyar, 
Fix  blood-red  roses  in  her  kinky  hyar; 
Ter  de  soun'  er  de  fiddle,  an'  de  poppin'  er  de  cork 
I'll  crown  her  de  queen  er  de  Hoe-cake  walk. 
Hoe-cake  walk!    Hoe-cake  walk! 
Crown  her  de  queen  er  de  Hoe-cake  walk. 


44  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 


STUDY'N'  HOW  TER  KEEP  FRUM  GITTIN' 
SHOOK  DOWN. 


When  de  win'  blows  hard  an'   de  lim's  all   lurch, 
De  bird  is  a  bird  whar  kin  stick  ter  de  perch, 
An'  in  dese  times  when  we  all  gits  jolts, 
We's  doin'  mighty  well  jes'  holdin'  our  holts, 
Still  ev'ybody  wants  fer  ter  clim'  up  de  tree, 
An'  see  fer  deyselves  what  de  "Tip-tops"  see, 
But  time  dat  we  reach  ter  de  very  fus'  roun', 
We's    study'n'    how    ter    keep    frum   gittin'    shook 

down. 
Gittin'  shook  down, 

Gittin'  shook  down, 

From  de  top  o'  de  tree  right  plum'  ter  de  groun', 
We's  study'n'  how  ter  keep  frum 
Gittin' 

Shook 

Down. 


Study'ri  How  ter  Keep  frum  Gittin'  Shook  Down      45 

In  de  ways  we  clim's  an'  de  ways  we  clings 
We  sho  is  de  kin  o'  de  fo'-laig  things, 

An'  gittin'  ter  groun',  we  jes'  soon  tread 
On  dis  hyer  one's  ne'k  er  dat  ar  one's  head ; 
An'  pullin'  folks'  laigs,  an'  ridin'  folks'  backs, 
Doh  jumpin'  an'  joltin',  we  sticks  ter  de  tracks, 
But  lookin'  fer  licks  we  don'  sleep  soun', 
We's    study'n'    how    ter    keep    frum    gittin'    shook 

down. 
Gittin'  shook  down, 

Gittin'  shook  down, 

Frum  de  top  o'  de  tree  right  plum'  ter  de  groun', 
We's  study'n'  how  ter  keep  frum 
Gittin' 

Shook 

Down. 


46  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 


GRASSHOPPERS. 


Yas !   I  see  de  sporty  butler  whar  is  w'arin'  white- 
folks'  clothes, 
An*   I    see  too,   dat   perliceman   whar   is   watchin' 

whar  he  goes — 
Now  er  little  bird  done  tol'  me,  an'   he  say  it 

mighty  nice : 

"Dyar's  er  hoppergrass  er-hoppin', 
An'  he  hoppin'  on  de  ice." 

Ya-s!     I  know  dat  high  up  preacher  whar  has  got 

his  praises  sung 
Kase  de  realms  er  gloom  an'  glory  he's  er-'splorin* 

wid  his  tongue, 
But  er  little  bird  done  tol'  me,  an'  he  say  it  mighty 

nice: 

"Dyar's  er  hoppergrass  er-hoppin', 
An'  he  hoppin'  on  de  ice." 

Y-a-s !    Ize  played  dat  crapshus  nigger  whar  is  got 

de  dice  an'  cup, 
An'  he  fluug  de  seven   erleven   ev'y  time  he   shake 

'em  up, 
But  er  little  bird  done  tol'  me,  an'  he  say  it  mighty 

nice: 

"Dyar's  er  hoppergrass  er-hoppin', 
An'  he  hoppin'  on  de  ice." 


Grasshoppers  47 


Y-a-s!     Ize  'quainted  wid  de   gem'man  whar,  ter 

mek  his  sperits  calm, 
Slips  erway  frum  home  'fo'  bre'kfast  fer  ter  git  er 

sip  er  dram, 
But  er  little  bird  done  tol'  me,  an'  he  say  it  mighty 

nice: 

"Dyar's  er  hoppergrass  er-hoppin', 
An'  he  hoppin'  on  de  ice/' 

Y-a-s!     It  'pears  Ize  flingin'  brickbats,  an'  I  'spec' 

I  better  quit, 
Doh,  er  course,  'tain'  none  my  hearers  whar  de  caps 

is  gwine  ter  fit — 
But  er  little  bird  done  tol'  me,  an'  he  say  it  mighty 

nice : 

"You's  er  hoppergrass  er-hoppin', 
An'  you's  hoppin'  on  de  ice'' 


48  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 


DE  SHUCKIN'  O'  DE  CORN. 


My  brothers  and  my  sisters, 

On  dis  sunny  Sabbath  morn 
Ize  in  min'  ter  do  some  preachin' 

'Bout  de  Shuckin'  o'  de  Corn, 
An'  Ize  gwine  ter  mek  it  p'inted, 

An  Ize  gwine  ter  say  it  plain — 
Dyar's  er  monst'us  mess  o'  shuckin', 

But  er  mighty  little  grain. 

Y'all  knows  de  corn-stalk  speakers 

Whar  jes'  spring  up  out  de  groun', 
How  dey  shakes  dey  top-knot  tassels 

Whar-some-never  crowds  is  foun'. 
Well,  if  y'all  will  tek  an'  shuck  'em, 

In  de  barn-house  o'  de  brain — 
Dyar's  er  monst'us  mess  o'  shuckin', 

But  er  mighty  little  grain. 

Y'all  buys  de  Sunday  papers 

Fer  ter  git  de  gwines-on; 
How  de  rustle  o'  dat  fodder 

Meks  you  'spec'  ter  git  some  corn. 
Well,  on  time  de  leaves  is  open, 

An'  you  gathers  up  yo'  gain — 
Dyar's  er  monst'us  mess  o'  shuckin', 

But  er  mighty  little  grain. 


De  Shuckiri  o'  de  Corn  49 


Y'all  goes  down  ter  de  cote-house 

Whar  dey  brings  de  folks  ter  taw, 
An'  you  heahs  er  lot  o'  lawyers 

Keep  er  holl'rin'  at  de  law, 
An'  ef  den  you  calls  de  doctors 

Dey  gwine  projec'  wid  yo'  pain— 
Dyar's  er  monst'us  mess  o'  shucking 

But  er  mighty  little  grain. 

Now  Ize  name'  de  main  'lustrations, 

An'  you  knows  Ize  name'  'em  true, 
But  befo'  I  ends  dis  'pistle 

Ize  er-p'intin'  it  at  you; 
So,  er  standin'  hyer,  I  axes  : 

"Is  de  sunshine  an'  de  rain 
Jes'  er-makin'  you  all  shuckin's 

Or  er-pilin'  up  yo'  grain?" 

My  brothers  and  my  sisters, 

Jes'  ez  sho'  ez  you  is  born, 
Right  behin'  yo'  backs,  folks  shuck  you 

All  de  same  ez  shuckin'  corn, 
An'  ef  you  is  little  nubbins, 

Den  yo'  growin's  all  in  vain; 
Folks  ain'  gwine  count  yo'  shuckin's; 

Dey's  er-gwine  ter  count  yo'  grain. 


50  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 


UNCLE  JOE. 


Young    Marster,    please    don'    call    me    "Brown," 

Don'  say  it  any  mo', 
Wid  my  white-folks  I  ain'  name  dat, 

I  jes'  is  "Uncle  Joe." 

I  knows  you  wan'  ter  be  perlite, 

An'  thought  I'd  like  it  too, 
But  when  you  used  dat  titlement 

It  didn'  soun'  like  you. 

I  'lows  I  likes  fer  color'd  folks 

Ter  call  me  "Brother  Brown," 
It  soun'  like  Ize  er-gittin'  up 

Instid  er  drappin'  down. 

An'  when  I  gits  in  my  black  clos', 

Puts  on  my  beaver  hat, 
Er  ban's  de  plate  erbout  in  chu'ch, 

I  feels  whar  I  is  at. 

It  sho  does  mek  me  kinder  proud 

Ter  stan'  an'  look  er-roun', 
An'  heah  de  sisters  whisperin', 

"Jes'  look  at  Deacon  Brown." 


Uncle  Joe 


But  when  de  flick'rin'  cabin  fire 

Shows  faces  in  de  glow, 
I  sets  an'  studies  'bout  de  ones 

Whar  call  me  "Uncle  Joe." 

I  raccolec'  when  you  wuz  small, 

An'  I  wuz  gittin'  on, 
But  I  wuz  still  what  I  call  young, 

Doh  fifty  years  wuz  gone. 

I  tuk  an'  hel'  you  on  my  knee; 

Wuz  tellin'  you  'bout  byars; 
When  you  saw',  shinin'  in  my  haid, 

De  very  fus'  grey  hyars. 

You  ax'  me  den,  how  ole  I  wuz, 
You  talk  so  grave  an'  slow, 

An'  when  I  tol'  you  "fifty  years," 
You  call'  me  "Uncle  Joe." 

Dat  come  jes'  like  er  blessin'  Suh, 

It  soun'  like  we  wuz  kin; 
It  made  me  feel  dat  love  wuz  deep — 

Heap   deeper   den   de   skin. 

An'  what  you  call'  me  folks  tuk  up, 
Miss  Jane,  an'  Sue,  an'  May; 

Seem  like  dey  all  wuz  claimin'  kin, 
A  new  one  ev'y  day. 


52  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

Gawd  bless  dey  little  chillun  hearts. 

I  lov'd  'em,  dat  dey  knowed, 
An'  I  b'leeve  dat  wuz  why  de  name 

Tuk  sech  er  root  an'  growed. 

I  ain'  fergot  how  we  all  wuz, 

I  never  gwine  fergit; 
My  book  er  'membrance  reads  ez  plain 

Ez  when  it  fus'  wuz  writ. 

De  folks  like  you  an'  me,  Marse  John, 

Dey's  few  now,  mons'us  few; 
An'  thereto',  doh  de  times  is  change', 

Dey  shan'  change  me  an'  you. 

So  don'  you  call  me  "Brown,"  Marse  John, 

Don'  say  it  any  mo', 
Wid  my  white- folks  I  don'  name  dat, 

I  jes'  is  "Uncle  Joe." 


Little  Mistiss  53 


LITTLE  MISTISS. 


"Little    Mistiss,"   hyer    I    is, 

Ize    settin'   by   yo'   grave. 
I  sees  de  shadows  dance  an'  play 

Jes'  time  de  cedars  wave. 
I  sees  'em,  an'  it  calls  to  min' 

How  full   o'   play   you   was, 
An'  studyn'  'bout  de  like  o'  dat 

Mos'  breaks  my  heart,  it  does. 

"Little   Mistiss,"   spring's   done   come; 

De  sky  is   cl'ar  an'  blue; 
De  birds  is  singin'  all  de  songs 

Dey  sung  las'  year  to  you ; 
Dey  sings  like  dey  wan'  cheer  me  up, 

But  while  I  hoe  de  corn 
De  win'  keep  whisperin'  in  de  pines — 

"De   little   Mistiss   gone." 

De  a'r  is  full  o'  sweetness  now; 

De  blooms  is  on  de  trees, 
An'  roun'  de  honey-suckle  vine 

I  heahs  de  buzzin'  bees. 
De  grass  is  long  an'  sof  an'  green, 

An'  ev'y  growin'  thing 
Fs  puttin'  out  an'  'pearin'  like 

It  know'd  dat  dis  was  spring. 


54  Ole  Marstcr  and  Other  Verses 

Tain'  so  wid  me,  nor  dat  it  aint, 

Dyars  some'n  says  to  me, 
Dat  doh  de  spring's  done  come  ag'in, 

Tain'   what  it  use'   to  be. 
I  feels  like  winter  still  was  hyer ; 

It's  mons'us  hard  to  Tarn 
Dat  spring  can  come,  and  flowers  can  bloom 

Wid  "Little  Mistiss"  gone. 


I  misses,  out  de  new  plow'  groun', 

De  tracks  o'  little  feet  ; 
De  echoes  'spondin'  through  de  woods 

Yo'  laugh,  so  clear  an'  sweet; 
Yo'  han',  whar  use'  to  cotch  hoi'  mine, 

An  lemme  lead  you   'long 
De  big  ole  lorg  stretch'  'cross  de  creek 

Whar  you  was  'feared  wan'  strong. 


You  don'  go  wid  me  fer  de  cows, 

An'  walk  right  by  my  side, 
Or  come  home  on  ole   Brindle's  back 

Jes'  like  you  use'  to  ride. 
I  miss  you  ev'ywhar  I  turns; 

Still  I  fergit  you's  gone, 
An'  'spec's  to  see  you  any  time 

Come  runnin'  through  de  corn. 


Little  Mistiss  55 


An*  doh  Ize  dis'p'inted  heap, 

I  listens  for  de  soun' 
An'  'lows  dat  ef  you  ain'  right  dyar 

You's  somewhar  playin'  roun'. 
I  knows  dat  I  gwi'  see  yo'  face, 

I  knows  I'll  heah  yo'  voice, 
Kase  some'n  you  done  tol'  me  'bout 

Is  made  dis  heart  rejoice. 


I  think  I  heahs  you  sing  dat  hymn 

'Bout  Jesus  byarin'  sin, 
An'  how  he's  tol'  'em  at  de  gates 

To  let  po'  sinners  in. 
An'  doh  ole  Satan  'rassle  like 

He  wan'  to  fling  me  down, 
Ize  sho  dat  when  de  fight  is  done 

Ize  gwine  to  git  my  crown. 


56  Ole  Marstcr  and  Other  Verses 


MAMMY'S  CHARGE. 


My  heart  is  mos'  broke,  Judy,  an'  my  haid  is  achin' 

bad, 

Dis  is  de  sor'ful's  evenin',  honey,  dat  I  is  ever  had. 
Dey  knowed  I  love  dat  dear  sweet  chile,  an'  now 

her  Mummer's  daid 

Dey  could  trus'  her  ole  black  mammy  fer  ter  treat 
her  good,  dey  said. 

So  dey  lef  me  in  de  nu's'ry  fer  ter  keep  de  chile  up 

dyar, 
But   I   still   could  heah  de   service,   an'   de   preacher 

read  de  pra'r; 
De  chile  too  kotch  de  singin',  an'  de  tears  I  had 

ter  hide, 

When,  in  play  she  kep'  on  'peatin',  "O  Lord,  wid 
me  abide." 

When   de   fune'al   it  wuz   over,    an'   de  hearse   wuz 

driv'  away, 
I  try  might'ly  fer  ter  'muse  her,  an'  ter  keep  her 

dyar  at  play, 
But  she  'sist  on  askin'  questions  like,  "Whar  is 

my  Farver  gone? 

I  wants  ter  see  my  Mummer;  will  she  stay  'way 
frum  me  long?" 


Mammy's  Charge  57 


I  cyar'  her  ter  de  winder,  an'  she  look'  out  in  de 

street, 
'Tel  she  got  so  tired  waitin'  dat  she  went  right  fas' 

asleep ; 
But  I  set  dyar  in  de  twilight  an'  I  hel'  de  little 

dear, 

'Tel  de  street  wuz  on'y  darkness,  an'   de  stars 
begin  ter  'pear. 

Den  one  star  come  out,  Judy,  whar  I  never  sees 

befo', 
An'  I  look  at  it  so  studdy  dat  de  tears  wuz  'bleege  ter 

flow; 
Den  I  tu'n  an'  see  my  darlin',  in  her  sleep,  begin 

ter  smile; 

An  de  new  star  seem'  a-shinin'  right  down  upon 
de  chile. 


58  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 


AFTER  THE  WAR. 


Good  mornin'!     Ize  'Lijer,  Marse  William — 

I  hopes  you  is  well,  Suh,  terday. 
Ize  needin'  er  pyar  er  de  ole  shoes 

You's  study'n'  'bout  flingin'  erway. 

Ain'  got  none!     Well  dat  is  er  pity. 

Now  what  is  I  gwine  fer  ter  do? 
'Tain'  showin'  my  'spec'  fer  "Ole  Marster" 

Ter  walk  er-roun'  hyer  wid   one   shoe. 

Er-knowin'  dat  one  er  his  sarvants 

Whar  done  fer  him  all  dat  he  could, 

Was  gwine  er-roun'  beggin'  dis  hyer  way, 
He'd  turn  in  de  grave,  dat  he  'ud. 

I  dunno  how  'tis,  Marster  William — 
I  don'  'pear  ter  fit  in  no  whar, 

I  gits  wid  de  new  issue  niggers, 
But  sholy,  my  people  am'  dyar. 

Dey  dresses  jes'  like  dey  wuz  monkeys; 

Dey  quarrels  an'  gits  inter  fights; 
Dey  stands  in  de  way  er  de  ladies, 

An'  claims  dat  dey's  'sertin'  dey  rights. 


After  the  War  59 


Dey  talks  mighty  heap  erbout  larnin'; 

Dey  mek  out  ole  niggers  is  fools — 
I  lay  I  could  tek  an*  spen'  money 

On  some'n  heap  better'n  schools. 

Young  niggers  am'  needin'  no  teachin' 
Like  ole  uns  needs  vittals  an*  meat — 

I  tell  you,  sence  gittin'  my  freedom, 
Ize  scrambled  fer  some'n  ter  eat. 

Den  too,  Suh,  jes'  look  at  de  white-folks — 
Dey's  changin'  frum  what  dey  once  wuz; 

Er-tryin'  so  hard  ter  mek  money 
Dey  loses  dey  manners,  dey  duz. 

I  ax  'em  fer  some'n  ernother ; 

Dey  look  like  dey'd  bite  me  in  two, 
Dey  tell  me,  "Go  long  ter  de  po'-house, 

We  ain'  gwine  be  pester'd  wid  you." 

I  looks  roun'  fer  some  dem  whar  know'd  me, 
But,  Marster,  I  finds  dat  dey's  gone — 

I  call  out  de  names  like  I  use'  ter, 
But  nothin'  'cep'  echoes  den  'spon'. 

Dey's  sleepin'  in  graves  at  de  "ole  place," 
An'  hyer  dey  has  left  me  behin' — 

I  wish  I  wuz  res'in'  'longside  'em, 

It  'pears  like  it's  time  I  wuz  gwine. 


60  Olc  Marster  and  Other  Verses 


THE  RACE  QUESTION. 


When  I  wuz  young  de  color'd  folks 
Wuz  'low'd  ter  lay  de  bricks ; 

Dey  climbed  de  scaffolds,  toted  hods, 
An*  made  de  mortar  mix. 

Dey'd  handle  hammers,  saws  an'  planes, 
An'  any  tools  dey'd  choose — 

It  wan*  no  folks  'cep'  niggers  den 
Whar  use'  ter  half-sole  shoes. 

In  dem  dyar  times  'twuz  nigger  backs 
Whar  gave  de  scythes  de  swing; 

'Twuz  big,  black,  shiny  nigger  arms 
Whar  made  de  anvils  ring. 

An'  settin'  on  de  wooden  horse 
Wid  staves  betwix'  dey  laigs, 

Wid  drawin'  knives  an'  hic'ry  poles 
De  niggers  hooped  de  kaigs. 

You  couldn'  fin'  no  barber  shop 

Dat  we-all  folks  wan'  dyar — 
De  little  ones  er-shinin'  shoes, 

The  big  ones  cuttin'  hyar. 


The  Race  Question  61 


Wid  high  up  gem'man  names  print'  on 

De  mugs  er-settin'  roun'; 
Er  heap  o'  niggers  made  dey  piles 

Frum  shaves  an'  breshin'  down. 


But  'tain'  so  now,  nor  dat  it  aint, 

De  white-folks  cuts  us  out; 
Dey  jumps  right  in  an'  gits  de  wuk 

'Fo'  we  knows  what  dey's  'bout. 

Dey  'trac's  de  trade — dem  out-land  folks — 
Dem  'Talians,  Dutch,  an'  Greeks, 

Aldo'  'tain'  none  whar  understands 
De  'spressions  whar  dey  speaks. 

Dey  shaves  an'  shampoos  all  day  long, 

Dey  never,  never  stops — 
Dey  don'  pick  banjers  fer  dey  fr'en's, 

An'  cake-walk  in  de  shops. 

De  Orishman  is  wuss  er  all — 

Jes'  time  er  nigger  nod, 
He  step  right  up  an'  shev'  him  down 

An'  grab  er  hoi'  his  hod. 


62  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

An'  den  de  Unions  layin'  bricks, 

Dey  hollers  out  ter  Mike — 
"Ef  dat  dyar  nigger  gits  dat  hod, 

We-all  is  gwine  ter  strike." 

Den  ev'y  body  on  de  job 

Er-j'inin'  in  de  fray, 
Jes'  tells  de  niggers,  up  an'  down, 

Ter  go  'long  out  de  way. 

De  bosses  don'  cyar  nothin'  'tall ; 

Dey  say  we's  mighty  slow; 
Dey  kinder  laugh  an'  'lows  it's  time 

De  nigger  got  ter  go. 

An'  ef  we  turns  den  ter  de  farms, 
Whar  we  had  ought  ter  been, 

We  dyar  gwine  find  some  big  machines 
Fer  us  ter  buck  erg'in. 

Dey's  took  an'  drove  out  all  de  scythes — 

I  'clar,  it  is  er  crime 
Ter  reap,  wid  one  dem  whirlin'  things, 

De  whole  crop  at  er  time. 


The  Race  Question  63 


I  know  we's  gittin'  mighty  larned — 
Folks  say  we's  making  has'e; 

Dyar's  heap  o'  sass  an'  argyment 
'Bout  "Progress  er  de  Race." 

I  'lows  we'  settin'  up  de  tree — 
De  nigger's  on  er  boom — 

But  I  wan'  know  whar  'bouts  is  I 
Gwine  git  some  elbow  room. 

Er-study'n'  'bout  one  question,  Suh, 
Nigh  bu'sts  my  brain  'jints  loose. 

"Is  niggers  now  er-cotchin'  holt, 
Er  is  dey  off  de  roos'  ?" 


64  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 


RECONSTRUCTION. 


I  know  dey  tuk  de  bottom  rail 

An*  put  it  on  de  top, 
But,  ever  sence,  dat's  been  de  rail 

Ter  whittle  on  an'  chop. 

De  men  whar  tuk  an'  put  it  dyar 
Know'd  niggers  ain'  got  sense; 

Dey  fix  it  so  jes'  dey  deyselves 
Could  set  'pon  top  de  fence. 

Dey  open  carpet-bags  up  dyar, 

Dey  eat  up  all  de  pies, 
An'  wuss  den  dat,  dey  clone  it  too, 

Right  'fo'  de  niggers'  eyes. 

So  many  folks  set  on  dat  rail 
It  soon  got  mighty  bent, 

An'  'bout  dat  time  er  some'n'  'curred 
Whar  wan'  no  axerdent. 


Reconstruction  65 


De   white   rail   crope   frum   'neath   de   fenc< 

It  hit  de  black— ker-flop ! 
An'  time  de  nigger  cotch  his  sense 

De  top  wuz  on  de  top. 

I  don'  wan'  be  no  top  rail  now; 

De  bottom  suits  dis  chile — 
Ize  study'n  how  ter  be  de  las' 

Whar's  flung  inter  de  pile. 

I  teks  an'  lets  de  white-folks  'lone ; 

I  don'  wan'  make  no  slips — 
De  black  rail  buttin'  'g'inst  de  white 

Mout  git  pick'  up  in  chips. 


66  Ole  Marstcr  and  Other  Verses 


THE  PESSIMIST. 


Nor  Suh,  de  times  ain'  what  dey  wuz, 

An'  dey's  gittin'  mighty  bad; 
De  craps  is  all  done  bu'nt  right  up, 

An'  de  chills  is  de  wuss  we's  had ; 
You  cyarn'  git  money  out  er  nobody  hyer, 

An'  de  folks  keeps  gwine  ter  law; 
Ain'  nothin'  'tall  in  de  county,  Suh, 

Like  'twuz  "befo'  de  War." 

Niggers  is  edgycated  now, 

An'  dey  ain'  gwine  wuk  no  moh; 
Dey  holds  dey  haid  so  mons'us  high 

Dey  don't  wan'  tech  de  hoe ; 
Dey  sets  on  de  fence  an'  talks  all  day, 

An'  dey'll  gin  you  sass  an'  jaw; 
Dey  ain'  got  de  'spect  fer  de  white-folks,  Suh, 

Whar  dey  had  "befo'  de  War." 


The  Pessimist  67 


De  fox  an'  de  mink  eats  all  de  hens, 

An*  de  horgs  root  holes  in  de  road ; 
Dat  blame'  ole  mule  bus'  de  gyarden  fence, 

An'  de  rats  gnaw'  inter  de  boa'd  ; 
De  crows  dey  comes  an'  steal  all  de  corn — 

,Dyar  now,  you  kin  hyer  'em  caw ; 
It  'pears  dat  de  critters  is  meaner,  Suh, 

Den  dey  wuz  "befo'  de  War." 

'Tain'  no  peaches  in  de  orchard  dis  year, 

An'  de  turnips  is  de  size  o'  er  ball, 
An'  Ize  sartin  sho',  if  de  weather  keeps  up, 

De  'bacca  gwine  be  ruin'  'fo'  de  fall  ; 
De  watermelons  dey  ain'  no  count, 

Dey's  smalles'  I  ever  saw ; 
Don'  none  de  things  grow  big  hyer,  Suh, 

Like  dey  did  "befo'  de  War." 


68  Ole  Marstcr  and  Other  Verses 


RUMINATIONS. 


Er-ramblin'  down  de  road  er  life 
You's  got  ter  'counter  storm  an'  strife; 
So  tote  'long  wid  you  some  de  balm 
What  he'ps  ter  keep  men's  sperits  calm. 
Nor,  'tain'  no  dram 
Dat  meks  folks  r'ar, 
It's  'bacca,  Sah. 


Den  when  de  times  is  pretty  hard, 
An'  you  am'  got  no  fr'en'ly  pard, 

An'  crops  is  gittin'  wuss  and  wuss, 
An'  you's  erf  eared  you's  gwine  ter  bus', 
An'  want  ter  cuss- 
Right  dyar,  instid, 
Bite  off  er  quid. 


Or  ef  de  gal  you's  courted  heap, 
Yawns  'fo'  yo'  eyes  an'  draps  ter  sleep, 
An'  by  de  time  you  say,  "Good-bye," 
You's  flung  so  fur  an'  kicked  so  high 
You  want  ter  die — 
De  time  is  ripe 
Ter  light  er  pipe. 


Ruminations  69 


An*  when  de  boss  has  call'  you  in, 
An*  starts  lambastin'  wid  his  chin, 
An'  says  yo'  wuk  is  mons'us  po', 
An'  he  don'  want  you  any  mo', 
You's  got  ter  go — 
Jes'  tek  er  chaw, 
An'  let  him  jaw. 

An'  ef  de  doctor  say  ter  you : 
"Quit  all  de  things  you  want  ter  do; 
Quit  drinkin'  any  drink  dat's  good, 
Quit  eatin'  ev'y  kind  er  food, 

You  starve  de  germs  out  er  yo'  blood." 
Den,  brother,  shout, 
"I'll  smoke  'em  out." 


7o  Ole  Marstcr  and  Other  Verses 


CONTENTMENT. 


Gimme  fus'  er  wood  fire 
Fer  ter  teas'  my  shin, 

Gimme  nex'   a  big  chair 
Fit  fer  res'in'  in. 


Gimme  den  my  houn'  dorg 

Settin'  down  by  me; 
Fill  up  full  my  jimmy-john — 

Full  as  full  can  be. 


Lemme  me  pick  my  banjer, 

Lemme  eat  my  pone, 
Lemme  me  smoke  my  cob-pipe, 

Den — jes  lemme  'lone. 


The  Point  of  View  71 


THE  POINT  OF  VIEW. 


,Brer  Possum  he  kin  lick  Brer  Coon, 
Brer  Coon  kin  lick  Brer  Houn', 

An*  ev'ybody  knows  Brer  Houn' 
Kin  bring  Brer  Possum  down. 

Er  nigger  frum  er  sideshow,  once, 

He  come  an'  say  ter  me : 
"We's  got  er  possum,  houn',  an'  coon 

Fer  our  menagerie. 

We  cotch  'em  out  hyer  in  de  woods 
When  we  wuz  haulin'  lorgs, 

An'  we's  in  min'  ter  raise  'em  up 
Like  edgycated  horgs. 

We  wants  ter  teach  'em  how  ter  march, 

We'd  give  mos'  anything 
Ef  dey  would  march  like  soldiers  does, 

Jes  dem  three  in  er  ring. 


72  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

We  puts  Brer  Possum  'fo'  Brer  Houn', 
'Hin'  Brer  Houn',  Brer  Coon  step ; 

Dat  brings  Brer  Possum  'hin'  Brer  Coon, 
An'  den  we  hollers — 'Hep!' 

Brer  Houn'  he  grabs  Brer  Possum's  tail, 
Brer  Possum  don'  tu'n  roun'; 

Instid  he  grabs  er-holt  Brer  Coon, 
Brer  Coon  he  grabs  Brer  Houn'. 

Wid  all  dem  critters  holdin'  holt, 
Jes'  time  Brer  Possum  squeal 

De  whole  caboodle's  j'ined  in  one, 
An'  whirlin'  like  er  wheel. 

Now,  Ize  done  come  ter  ax  you,  Suh, 

Whar  is  er  man  o'  peace, 
How  can  we   'range  dem  critters   so 

Dat  fightin's  gwine  ter  cease?" 

I    up,    an'   tol*    dat  ^circus    man: 
"Ize  glad  dat  you's  come  'roun'; 

I'll  tek  dis  'casion  fer  ter  'splain, 
An'  also  fer  ter  'spoun'. 


The  Point  of  View  73 


Brer  Possum  he  kin  lick  Brer  Coon, 
Brer  Coon  kin  lick  Brer  Houn', 

Still  ev'ybody  knows  Brer  Houn' 
Kin  fotch  Brer  Possum  down. 

De  on'y  way  you  gwine  have  peace, 

Is  so  ter  mek  'em  front, 
Dat  ev'y  critter's  gwine  ter  see 

Er  giant  'stead  o'  runt. 

De  wildes'  critters  in  de  woods 

Is  got  dis  tex'  in  min', 
"When  danger's  gwine  on  befo' 

Don'  never  look  behin'." 

I  tol*  you  I  wuz  gwine  ter  'splain, 

An'  likewise  fer  ter  'spoun', 
You'll  never  git  dem  critters  right 

Untwel  you  tu'ns  'em  'roun'. 

Brer  Possum  skeered  Brer  Houn'  gwine  bite, 

Brer  Coon  ain'  gwin'ter  fail 
Ter  'member  'bout  what  happens  when 

He  tech  Brer  Possum's  tail. 


74  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

An'  ole  Brer  Coon  'pear  ter  Brer  Houn' 

Er  lion  in  de  paf; 
So  when  he  see  him  he  gits  col', 

Like  niggers  in  er  baf. 

De  'rangement,  possum,  houn',  an'  coon 

Is  gwin'ter  stan'  fer  war. 
De  'rangement,  possum,  coon,  an'  houn' 

Gwine  stan'  fer  peace  an'  law. 

So  when  de  critters  in  de  camp 

Is  itchin'  fer  er  fight, 
Jes'  'range  each  one  ter  come  behin' 

De  wrong  one  fer  ter  bite. 

An'  time  you  does,  dem  fightin'  beasts 
Will  see  what  dey  gwine  see, 

An'  change  dey  looks  'twel  dey  looks  like 
Faith,  Hope,  an'  Charity." 

So  den  I  'nounce  dis  mighty  tex', 

Doh  it  ain'  nothin'  new, 
Ter  be  fer  peace  er  be  fer  war 

Tends  on  de  point  o'  view. 


The  Duck  75 


THE  DUCK 


I  sho'  will  tell  de  gorspel  truth,  'cordin'  de  oath  I 

tuk, 
You  don'  spose  I  gwine1  tell  a  lie,  jes'  fer  ter  git  er 

duck? 
Besides,  I  don'  need  tell  no  lie  when  truth  will 

sarve  de  same, 

Kase  mine  sho'  is  de  righteous  cause — dat  nigger 
am'  got  no  claim. 

Tis  dis  er  way  I  got  dat  duck.     Me  an'  dat  gal 

er  mine 
Was  eatin'   millons  in  de  yard  an'   flingin'   'way  de 

rine, 
An'  dat  dyar  duck  keep  peepin'  twix'  de  palin's  er 

de  fence, 

An'    den    it    traspass    in    de    yard — it    stay    dyar 
ever  sence. 

It   wan'   no   bigger'n   my    fis'   when    fus'    it   come   in 

dyar, 
An'  one  de  laigs  wuz  crimp  up  so  dey  didn'  look 

like  a  pyar; 
It  had  de  yaller  feathers  still,  an'  kinder  shet  one 

eye, 

An'  when  I  see  it  standin'  dyar,  I  say,  "Dat  duck 
gwine  die." 


76  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

I  never  did  lodge  no  complaint,   I   did'n'  wan'  raise 

no  fuss; 
But  when  it  peered  so  mighty  sick,  an'  gittin'  wuss 

an'  wuss, 
I  sorter  s'picioned  how  some  time  great  trouble  I 

gwine  see 

Jes'   kase   I   'lowed   dat   sickly  duck   ter   come   an' 
live  on  me. 

It    sleep    right    underneath    de    house    an'    eat   all 

kind  er  truck, 
An'   my   ole   'ooman   doctored   it,   an'    Mirny   nussed 

de  duck. 
Dat   gal   los'   edycashun,   Suh,   she   acted   like   a 

fool; 

Fer  ev'y  time  de   duck  got   sick   she   stay   erway 
frum  school. 

I  ain'  no  lawyer,  but  I  knows  dat  I  kin  argyfy. 
Ef  dat  ar  nigger  says  I  steals,  I  tells  him  he's  er  lie. 
I  gwine  hev  justice  in  dis  case — some  questions 

I  wan'  ax, 

An'  ef  he  thinks  dat  he's  so  smart,  jes'  let  him 
'spute  de  facts. 

When   niggers  creeps  inter  de  yard,  an'  totes  de 

ducks  away, 
De  p'leeceman  cyar  'em  ter  de  cage,  an'  dyar  dey 

got  ter  stay; 


The  Duck  77 


But,    sposen   doh,    I   has   er    fence,   an'   dat   man's 

duck  bus'  through 
An'  steals  tomatis  off  de  vine — den  what  de  law 

gwine  do? 

An'  when  de  duck  come  traspassin'   in  dat  ar  yard 

er  mine, 
It  wan'  no  use  ter  warrant  it,  fer  who  gwine  pay  de 

fine? 
Fer  all  de  time  dat  duck  stay  dyar,  nigh  on  six 

months  an'  moh, 

Dat  nigger  got  ter  pay  de  boa'd,  an'  dat  is  sartin 
sho'. 

I  tells  him  I  gwine  charge  him  too,  fer  physic  dat  it 

tuk, 

An'  edycashun  my  gal  los'  er  nussin'  er  de  duck. 
I  counts  in  all  de  heaps  er  cyars  an'  sponsibility 
Er  keepin'  dat  ar  sickly  duck  dat  he  shove  off  on 
me. 

Dyar's    one    'lustration    I    wan'    make — Yes    Suh,    I 

mos'  is  through — 
How  Solomon,  de  King,  he  say,  "Jes  chop  de  chile 

in  two!" 
An'  ef  you  bleeged  ter  split  dat  duck,  ter  foller 

jestice'  paf, 
I  makes  de  pint,  /  fatten  it,  an'  claims  de  bigges'  half. 


78  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 


THE  KING  CORN  MAN. 


I  teks  dis  'casion  fer  ter  rise 

An'  'nounce  /'//  git  de  "King  Corn  Prize," 

Whar's  offered  fer  de  bigges'  corn ; 

Bekase  ez  sho'  ez  you  is  born 
Ize  got  de  very  bigges'  ear 
Dat  folks  is  ever  see  'roun'  hyer. 

An'  I  wan'  tell  you  too,  my  brother, 

Dat  I  am'  nary  farmer  nother. 
I  never  wuz  no  country  man, 
Nor  ploughed  de  smalles'  patch  er  Ian'. 

I  couldn'  tell  er'  bacco  seed 

Frum    dat   whar   grows    de   Jimson-weed. 

But  still  I  sez  ter  you,  "Dorg-gone, 
Ef  I  don'  git  dat  prize  fer  corn." 
Soon  ez  I  heah  'bout  dat  ar  prize 
I  scratch  my  haid  an'  shet  my  eyes, 
An*  study  out  de  champion  plan 
Fer  crownin'  me  de  "King  Corn  Man." 

Ize  done  heah  tell  dat  'long  de  streams, 
In  special,  Suh,  de  "noble  Jeems," 
De  farmer  folks,  fer  heap  er  years, 
Been  settin'  out  de  roas'in'-ears ; 
An'  so  I  say  right  dyar :  "Dorg-gone, 
Ef  I  don'  'zamine  all  dat  corn." 


The  King  Corn  Man  79 

So  den  I  took  it,  foot-in-han', 

An*  start'  ter  tromp  de  farmin'  Ian', 

Untwel  de  low-groun's  show*  my  track 

From  Botetourt  ter  Accomac. 
An'  doh  er  heap  o'  snakes  I  see', 
An'  farmers'  dorgs  got  arter  me, 

An',  hyer  an  dyar,  erlong  de  route 

I  stop'  ter  git  de  chiggers  out, 
An'  I  pass'  thro'  er  mess  er  crops 
Wid  ears  like  dem  de  chillun  pops, 

I  never  see'  er  great  big  ear 

I  didn'  stole  it  fer  "de  Fyar." 

Now,  what's  de  good  er  puttin'  on 

Dem  big-bug  men  ter  jedge  folks'  corn 
When  ev'y  farmer,  brought  ter  scratch, 
Gwi'  bring  de  leavin'  er  his  patch? 

While  I,  de  King's  got  hyer  ter  show 

De  bigges'  corn  dat  each  kin  grow. 

Pears  like,  ter  me,  dat's  was'in'  talk; 

De  corn's  been  j edged,  Suh,  on  de  stalk. 

An'  so  I  seys  ergin,  "Dorg-gone, 

Ef  /  don'  git  dat  prize  fer  corn." 


80  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 


THE  TRAVELERS. 


My  brothers,  we's  er  trav'lin'  like  de  critters  in  de  Ark, 
An'  er  part  de  time  it's  daylight,  an'  er  part  de  time 

it's  dark, 
An'  de  ocean's  dyar  ter  git  us  ef  we  don'  stick  ter  de 

ship, 

So  we  goes  wid  fear  an'  trim'lin'  fer  de  mos'  part 
o'  de  trip. 

We  lives  in  little  cages  whar  we  daily  walks  er-roun', 
An*  we  sometimes  has  de  'spicion  dat  we's  gittin'  over 

groun', 
But  time  we  tek  our  byarin's  an'  we  ca'culate  de 

sum, 

We  finds  de  place  we  'rives  at  is  de  place  frtun 
whar  we  come. 

Like  owls  some  totes  dey  wisdom  in  de  faces  whar  dey 

meks, 
An'  gits  er  name  fer  larnin'  kase  dey  eyebrows  look 

like  specks, 
Dey  can  do  er  lot  er  screechin'  when  dey's  talkin' 

'bout  de  night, 

But  dey  sets  an'  don'  say  nothin'  when  de  time  has 
come  fer  light. 


The  Travellers  81 


Dyar's  some  whar's  like  de  tigers — mons'us  res'less  in 

de  cage, 
An'  de  things  whar's  sent  ter  hoi'  'em  is  de  things 

whar  mek  'em  rage, 
'Stead  er  gittin'  down  ter  business  an'  er-playin' 

in  de  show, 
Dey's  er-chawin'  at  de  i'on  an'  er-pawin'  at  de  doh. 

Den  er  heap  is  like  de  monkies  whar  is  clim'in'  fer  de 

top, 
An'  de  other  monkies  grab  'em,  an'  dey  try  ter  mek 

'em  stop, 
But  de  waves  o'  tribulation  give  de  ship  er  mighty 

lurch 

An'  de  mess  o'  clim'in'  monkies  come  er  tum'lin' 
off  de  perch. 

Uyar  is  some  whar  'sembles  goslin's  in  de  way  dey 

march  behin' 
De  ones  whar  goes  befo'  'em,  doh  dey  don'  know  whar 

dey's  gwine; 
Jes'  steppin'  in  de  goose-tracks  er  de  father  goes 

de  son, 

An'  he  never  does  do  nothin'  dat  his  daddy  didn' 
done. 


82  Olc  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

Yas,  we's  mighty  like  dem  critters  whar  was  trav'lin' 

in  de  Ark, 

De  top-deck  ones  is  frozen  an'  de  bottoms  in  de  dark, 
An'  de  middles  dey  is  'spicious  dat  de  vittals  won' 

go  roun', 

So    dey    watches    all    dey    neighbors    kase    dey's 
feared  dey'll  fling  em  down. 

We's  er-floatin'  an'  er-drif'in',  but  we's  bleege  ter  reach 

de  sho', 
An  we  knows  de  time  is  comin'  when  it  ain'  gwine  rain 

no  mo', 
When  we'll  see  de  lighthouse  shinin'  by  de  wharf  o' 

Ararat, 

An'  we'll  look  down  frum  de  mountain  an'  we'll 
know  whar  we  is  at. 


I  rec'on  den  de  top-decks  gwine  ter  thaw  er  little  bit ; 
De  bottoms,  down  in  darkness,  gwine  be  lifted  out  de 

pit; 
De  middles  won'  be  scramblin'  an'  er-scufflin'  in  de 

pen, 

But  dey'll  roam  roun'  in  de  gyarden  an'  dey'll  git 
er  plenty  den. 


The  Travellers  83 


I  rec'on  den  de  monkies  will  be  'lowed  ter  clim'  up 

high, 
De  owls   gwine   tek   ter   smilin'   kase   dey'll   see   de 

sunny  sky, 

De  tiger  gwine  be  quiet  an'  as  frien'ly  as  de  cat 
When  de  rain  it  quits  er  rainin'  an'  we  gits  ter 
Ararat. 


84  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 


DE  POT  WHAR  CALL'  DE  KITTLE  BLACK. 


De  pot,  whar  call'  de  kittle  black, 
Look'  in  de  glass  an'  tuk  it  back. 
He  saw  hisself  dat  he  wan'  bright, 
An'  so  he  say : — "On  secon'  sight, 
I  don'  b'leeve  dat  dyar  kittle's  black, 
It  looks  like  me,  an'  dat's  er  fac'; 
An'  I  spec'  too,  Ize  gwine  ter  fin' 
Ole  kittle's  heart  is  'bout  like  mine." 

We  ain't  er-wearin'  on  de  face 

De  happy,,  shiny  look  o'grace, 
Kase  axerdent  an'  sarcumstance 
Done  lead  us  sich  er  devil's  dance, 

We's  got  on  us  er  coat  o'  paint 

Whar  meks  us  look  like  what  we  aint; 
Ther'fo',  o'  course,  dis  row  done  riz 
'Bout  what  we  aint  an'  what  we  is. 

We'd  like  ter  shine  up  in  de  light 
Like  table  things  whar's  clean  an'  white, 

An'  kep'  erway  f  rum  all  de  grime ; 

But  me  an'  kittle,  mos'  de  time, 
Is  got  ter  set  wid  coal  an'  coke 
An'  fire  an'  flame  an'  dus'  an'  smoke; 

Wid  burnin's  out  an'  bilin's  in 

We  git  ter  look  like  home-made  sin. 


De  Pot  whar  call'  de  Kittle  Black  85 

But,  how-some-never  way  we  look, 

We  face  de  fire  an'  we  cook 

Jes'  like  we's  put  hyer  fer  ter  do, 
An'  on  de  fire  we  sing  some  too; 

But  easy  times  wa'n'  made  fer  us, 

We's  doin'  well  ef  we  don'  bus'. 

Now,  dat  dyar  plate  thinks  she's  all  right, 

Er-settin'  dyar,  an'  lookin'  white. 
She  ain'  done  nothin'  all  de  day 
'Cep'  settin'  lookin'  dat  dyar  way; 

Jes'  waitin'  fer  ter  grab  er  hoi' 

O'  what  we  cooks,  befo'  it's  col', 

An'  tote  it  whar  de  folks  kin  see, 
Er-sayin': — "Now,  jes'  look  at  me! 

What  splendid  vittals  I  is  got, 

Er-bringin'  ter  you,  pipin'  hot! 
I  hope  dat  you  gwine  'predate 
De  mighty  labor  o'  de  plate." 

An'  dyar  an'  den  dat  sassy  liar, 

What  never  face  no  smoke  er  fire, 
Gits  all  de  praise  fer  what  is  et — 
De  produce  o'  our  wuk  an'  sweat — 

An'  folks  all  'lows  dat  glory  great 

Is  what's  done  fer  'em  by  de  plate. 


86  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

Dey  don'  see  nothin'  'bout  de  pot; 
Him  an'  de  kittle's  lef  fergot. 

An'  so  it  is,  jes'  like  I  say, 

"Good  looks  gwine  git  de  praise  terday." 
But  I  wan'  ax,  wid  pain  an'  sorrow, 
Whar  'bouts  dat  plate  gwine  be  termorrow? 

Jes'  let  her  git  off  dat  dyar  shelf, 

An'  start  ter  circulate  herself 

In  all  dis  kitchen  mix  an'  mess, 
She  gwine  have  'ventures.    I  be  bless 

Ef  she  don'  fin'  dis  worl'  is  rough, 

An'  dem  whar's  in  it  mighty  tough. 

An'  few  dyar  be  whar  don'  git  bent 
By  sarcumstance  an'  axerdent. 
One  time  de  fire  scotch  her  back 
You'll  see  her  wrinkle  up  an'  crack, 
An'  all  dat  face  whar  use'  ter  shine 
In  ev'y  spot  gwine  sho'  de  line 

Whar  tribulation  tuk  an'  tromp, 

An'  stomp'  his  hoof  an'  lef  er  stomp. 
Hyer  now !    Ize  talkin'  'bout  de  plate 
Jes'  like  I  done  'bout  my  bes'  mate, 

Ole  kittle,  when  I  call  him  black, 

An'  doin'  it  behin'  her  back. 


De  Pot  whar  calV  de  Kittle  Black  87 

Kin  I  jedge  what  she  ought  ter  be? 
Am'  we  made  different,  her  an'  me? 

I  tek  back  mos'  de  things  I  said. 

Poor  plate !    She  mighty  tender  made, 
An'  still  she  always  got  ter  shine. 
'Tain'  none  de  people  gwine  ter  min' 

De  pot's  face  showin'  some  de  sut, 

But  let  er  plate  git  jes'  one  smut, 

Somebody's  sartin  sho'  ter  shout, 
"Dat  plate  is  dirty,  take  her  out !" 

An'  arter  dat  her  only  hope 

Is  in  de  wash-rag  an'  de  soap; 
An'  even  den,  folks  is  so  mean, 
Dey  axes,  "Does  you  'spec'  she's  clean?" 

Ef  once  she  slip,  an'  has  er  fall — 

Good-bye  forever,  an'  ter  all. 

Dyar  'tis,  she's  crush' — er  mighty  smash — 
An'  ev'ybody's  heah'd  de  crash, 

An'  dem  whar's  nigh  her  gits  de  broom 

An'  sweeps  her  quick,  right  out  de  room, 
An'  hides  her  twell  she  pass  erway 
Wid  all  de  ashes  an'  de  clay. 

De  pot  whar  call'  de  kittle  black 

Look'  in  de  glass  an'  tuk  it  back. 


MONOLOGUES 


Aunt  Dinah  at  the  Fair  91 


AUNT  DINAH  AT  THE  FAIR. 


Well,  I  declar',  ef  dyar  ain'  Jane!    I  didn'  know  she 

wuz  hyer. 
Oh!  come  'long,  Son,  stan'  out  de  way — you'll  git  run 

over,  Suh! 
It  'pears  like  we  am'  got  no  rights  when  sech  as  dis 

is  'lowed, 
An'     good-fer-nothin'-po'-white-trash     come     ridin' 

through  de  crowd. 

Hi  Jane!     Oh,  Jane!     Hyer!     Hyer  we  is!     Jes' 

shove  yo'  way  'long  through. 
Well,  I  is  s'prized  ter  see  you  hyer.     Malviny,  how 

you  do? 
Why,  Lor',  how  dat  ar  gal  is  grow'd — she  might'ly 

like  her  Pa— 

But  den   she  got  de  likely  looks   in   'zemblance   ter 
her  Ma. 

How's   all?      Is   Uncle   Samson    up,    an'    Sary    Ann 

got  well? 
Is  little  Job  done  'covered  frum  dat  cur'ous  sickly 

spell? 
Ef  he  don'  git  erlong  an'  mend,  it  cert'ny  'pears  ter 

me, 
Ef  I  wuz  you,  I'd  gin  dat  chile  er  dose  o'  sass'fras  tea. 


92  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

You    say   dat   Uncle    Samson   got   de   mis'ry   in   de 

face? 
Why  don'  you  git  some  Jimson-weed  an'  rub  it  on 

de  place? 
Den  ef  brown-kitis  troubles  him,  I'd  cure  him,  dat 

I  'ud; 
I'd  mek  him   smoke   dry  mullein  leaves — dey's   done 

me  heap  er  good. 


How  long  you  been  hyer?  Is  you  seen  de  light- 
bread  an'  de  cake? 

Well,  'tain'  no  'count — it  'pears  like,  now,  folks  don' 
know  how  ter  bake. 

De  pies  an'  things  is  jes'  as  bad ;  de  Fyar  gits  wuss 
an'  wuss. 

I  thought  Malviny's  quilt  de  bes'.  I  say  so  frurn  de 
fus'. 


Nor,  I  don'  'zibit  nothin'  'tall — dey  don'  like  color'd 

folks. 
At  ev'y  thing  dat  I  wan'  sen'  de  white- folks  laughs 

an'  jokes. 
I  sen'  some  'simmons  fer  ter  show;  dey  eat  up  all 

de  pile, 
Den  say  dey  don'  show  'simmons  hyer  wid  produce 

er  de  sile. 


Aunt  Dinah  at  the  Fair  93 

Jes'  now  I  went  ter  see  de  race,  but  when  I  cross' 

de  trac' 
A  p'leeceman  cotch  right  hoi'  er  me,  and  say,  "Git 

back!    Git  back!" 

I  up  an'  tol*  him  ter  his  face  ter  quit  dat  bossin'  me, 
Dat  I  done  pay  ter  come  in  hyer,  an'  I  wuz  gwine 

ter  see. 


Jes'  look  er  dyar — ain'  dat  er  fight?    Dat  p'leeceman 

got  him  doh — 
Git  out  de  way !    Dat's  Washington  !    Don'  hit  him 

any  mo'. 
He  ain'  done  nothin'  'cep'  git  drunk.    Who  pull  out 

all  his  hyar? 
He  mos  in  gin'ral  do  git  drunk  when  he  come  ter 

de  Fyar. 


You  'bleege'  ter  cyar  him  ter  de  cage  fer  'sistin'  de 

p'leece? 
Dyar  'tis;  he'll  be  de  death  er  me — I  never  has  no 

peace. 
I  s'posen,  now,  ter  git  him  out,  Ize  got  ter  pay  de 

cos' — 
Good  gracious!     Whar  is  Little  Joe!     I  know'd  he 

gwine  git  los' ! 


94  Ole  Marstcr  and  Other  Verses 


DAT  BOY 


Good  mornin',  Sister,  how  you  does?    You  wan'  at 

chu'ch  las'  night? 
Oh,  things  wuz  'citing'  dyar,  one  time  I  thought 

folks  gwine  ter  fight. 
'Twas  all  erlong  er  dat  dyar  boy,  Sis  Mandy  Jones's 

son. 
I'd  w'ar  my  chillun  out  if  dey  had  done  what  he 

done  done. 
He  walk  in,  all  so  solemn  like,  an'  den  what  mus' 

he  do, 
But  tek  an'  sot  hisself  right  down  jes'  back  o'  Bro' 

Smith's  pew. 

I  wuz  dat  s'prized  I  couldn't  talk,  but  Jane  say,  "I 

declar ! 
What  is  de  Jones  boy  doin'  in  de  'Amen  Cornder' 

dyar?" 
He  sing  straight  long  jes'  like  de  res',  an'  come  in 

wid  de  bass, 
Till  arfter  'while  I  kinder  'lowed  he  wan'  no  harden' 

case. 
An'  Jane,  she  say,  "I  b'lieves  he's  'formed  an'  wan* 

ter  do  de  right. 
You   heah  me,    Ma,  he  gwine  be   on   de   Mourner's 

Bench  ternight." 


Dat  Boy  95 


Well,  things  wuz  peaceful  in  de  chu'ch,  an'  Jasper 

'gin  ter  preach; 
He    'splain,    an'    'spoun',    an'    talk    right    long,    kase 

souls  is  hard  ter  reach. 
Twan*   nothin'   'tall   Bro'    Smith   wan'   heah,   doh   it 

wuz  larn'  an'  deep; 
So  Bro'  Smith  lean'  er-ginst  de  pos',  an'  went  right 

fas'  asleep. 
I  heah  er  soun',  same  ez  er  breeze  er-blowin'  through 

er  tree, 
It  'peared  ter  come  onreg'lar  like — Cow-oo !   Co-wo-o ! 

Co-we-e ! 

It  'trac'  folks'  notice,  an'  I  tu'n  an'  say,  "Hi,  what 

wuz  dat?" 
But  Jane  tell  me  de  fuss  come  frum  de  place  Bro' 

Smith  wuz  at. 
Bro'  Jasper  frown',  an'  look'  right  mad;  I  thought 

he  gwine  ter  say, 
"Jes'  rouse  dat  deacon  er  de  chu'ch,  he  mustn'  sno' 

dat  way." 
But  he  kep'   on,   he   didn'   stop,   de  "Fourthly"   wuz 

de  nex'; 
He  'splain'  dat  studyin'  'stronomy  helps  'lucidate  de 

tex'. 


96  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

Den  come  er  fuss — er  lot  er  snorts  like  horgs  wuz 
rootin'  roun', 

An*  'fo'  I  knowed  it  I  done  'sclame,  "Dat's  Bro' 
Smith,  I  be  boun' !" 

An'  Lindy  Smith,  she  'spec'  so  too,  'bout  dat  dey 
ain'  no  doubt; 

She  wan'  draw  'tention  off  her  Pa,  dat's  why  she 
'gin  ter  shout; 

But  time  she  start,  Jane  up  an'  say:  "Dyar  he,  I 
seed  him  sho' ! 

Jes'  soon  ez  Mister  Smith  wuz  'sleep  dat  boy  com 
mence  ter  sno' ! 

He  set  back  dyar,  an'  when  Bro'  Smith  done  let  his 

haid  fall  down, 
Dat  good-fer-nothin'-low-life  boy  prepyar  ter  mek 

er  soun'." 
Den  Bro'  Smith  riz,  an'  grab  dat  boy,  he  cotch  him 

by  de  hyar, 
He  didn'  wait  till  chu'ch  buss  up,  he  frail  him  down 

right  dyar. 
Dat  rascal  'rassle  all  his  might,  he  kick  Bro'  Smith's 

shin  bone ; 
He  holler,  "Quit  dat  hittin'  me !"  an'  "Whyn't  you 

lemme  'lone!" 


Dat  Boy  97 


He  paw,  an'  bite,  an'  carry  on  rampageous  ez  er  colt, 
But  'twa'  no  use  o'  doin'  dat,  Bro.   Smith  jes'  hilt 

his  holt; 
An'  Bro'er  Smith  he  tell  dat  boy  he  gwine  ter  have 

him  know 
He  ain'  ter  put  dat  mouf  o'  hisn  in  folks  affyars  no 

mo'; 

An'  ef  he  is  afeard  ter  die,  an'  wan'  ter  keep  his  helf , 
He'll  let  de  sleepers  in  de  chu'ch  do  snorin'  fer  dey- 

self. 


98  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 


THE  MARCH  OF  THE  LODGES. 


Dey's  comin',  holdin'  up  dey  haids,  er-lookin'  sorter 

proud ; 
Dey's    comin',    wid    de    horn    an'    fife    er-blowin' 

mighty  loud; 
Dey's  steppin'  kinder  solemn  like  an'  marchin'  ter 

de  chune — 
Oh !  dis  hyer  is  de  funerul  uv  er  ve'y  'portant  coon. 

De  music  whar  dey's  steppin'  ter  is  got  de  mourn 
ful  wail 
Whar    makes    er    sickly    nigger    turn    er    I'sh-potato 

pale. 
"Flee  like  er  bird  ter  de  mountain"  's  what  dey 

play, 

But  hue-come  I  know  dis  yer  bird  is  flyin'  dat  er 
way? 

De   "Swarthy   Hos'   er   Israel"   is   'vancin'   mighty 

gran', 
But   natchally   dey's   doin'   dat,   dey's   jes'   behin'   de 

ban'; 
An'  dem  whar  totes  de  little  books  is  "Scribes  er 

Galilee," 

Dey  allus  'scorts  de  banner-man,    de    "Famous 
Pharisee." 


The  March  of  the  Lodges  99 

My  gracious!    Am'  he  puff'  up  heap  wid  'portance 

er  hisself, 

He  better  slacken  up  de  belt  befo'  he  hurt  his  helf. 
I   ain'   no   sayin'   he   am'   strong,   aldo'   he   sho'   is 

fat- 
Man,  Suh!   dat  is  a  portly  place  de  flag-staff's 
res'in'  at. 

But  dat  ar'  gem'man  so  het  up,  er-totin'  er  de  mace, 
Whar  got  de  sperspiration  streams  er-runnin'  down 

his  face, 

He  is  de  bigges'  boss  er  all — his  name  is  Mr.  Sam — 
His  titlement  is  "Fountain  Head  er  Risin'  Sons 
er  Ham." 

Yas,  dat  is  Sister  Lindy  Smith  er-ridin'  in  de  hack. 

I  see  de  collar  er  de  lodge  is  wrop  er-roun'  her  na'k. 

She  washes  fur  "de  Quality,"  an'  ev'y  whar  she 

goes 

She  loosens  up  de  starch  fur  'em  by  w'arin'  er  dey 
clos'. 

But  look  er  dyar  at  little  Lige! — Jes'  watch  him 

cotch  de  step — 

Ef  he's  er-gwine  all  de  way  I  lay  he  got  ter  hep. 
Dem  pants  er  his  is  heap  too  big,  dey's  roun'  his 

shoes,  dey  is; 
Ef  I  was  him  I'd  res'  er  spell,  an'  h'ist  my  galluses. 


ioo  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

Nor  Suh!  I  ain't  erfeared  ter  die — Ize  done  prepyar 

ter  go, 

I  got  er  lot  er  'ligion  now  an'  gwin'ter  git  some  mo' ; 
And  when  de  S'ieties  Ize  j'ined  turn  out  ter  bury 

me, 

Dey  won'  leave  cooks  enough  at  wuk  ter  git  de 
white-folks'  tea. 


Speech   of   the  Rev.   Gabriel   Gizzardjort  101 


SPEECH  OF  DE  REV.   GABRIEL  GIZZARD- 
FORT  ON  DE  CELEBRATION  OF  DE 
FOURTEENTH  COMMANDMENT. 


My  Bretheren  an'  Sisteren,  now  wharfo'  is  we  come 
Er-gatherin'  tergether  at  de  beatin'  er  de  drum, 

Korvortin'  roun'  de  city  streets,  an'  marchin'  ter 

de  squar; 
I  tek,  an'  ax  you  once  ergain,  what  is  we  doin' 

dyar? 
We's  had  er  mighty  big  parade,   an'  gwines  to  an* 

fro, 

We's  hollered  fittin'  f  er  ter  buss  de  walls  er  Jericho ; 
An'   now,    while   we's   er-settin'   down,    an'    ladies, 

in  de  hacks, 
Is  fotchin'  bags  an'  baskets  out  an'  fixin'  up  de 

snacks, 

Befo'  partakin'  er  de  pies,  er  eatin'  er  de  aigs, 
Er  succulation  on  de  souse,  er  chewin'  chicken  laigs, 
Befo'  de  liquordation  er  de  kaigs  er  lemonade 
I  ax  you,  p'intedly,  wharfo'  is  dis  hyer  gran'  parade? 
It  ain'  no  use  ter  answer  me.     Dat  question's  on'y 

me'nt 

Ter  set  er-gwine  dis  hyer  speech,  an'  p'int  de  argy- 
ment. 


102  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

De  preacher  is  de  on'y  one  ter  'rassle  wid  de  fac's, 
An'    'splore,   an'   'splain,   an'   spatify   de   questions 

whar  he  ax. 
Perceedin'  therefo',   Bretheren,   I   'nounces  ter  yo' 

face 
De   titlement   er   dis   hyer   speech   is   "Progress   er 

de  Race." 

An'  in  consideration  er  de  takin'  er  de  tex' 
De  'terpertation  er  de  same  is  natchally  de  nex'. 

What  signicates  de  Ascription  er  de  'spression  you 

is  heard? 
"De  Progress  er  de  Race"  is  sho'  er  mighty  p'inted 

word. 

It  'zibits  dat  we's  movin'  on — mozeing  ev'ywhar — 
Er-stoppin'  jes'  ter  res'  er  spell,  an'  den  perceedin' 

dyar; 
It    misticates    de    'nouncement    er    how    high    we 

gwin'ter  rise, 
But     hyer     we     is,     pas'     Jordan's     stream,     wid 

Canaan  'fo'  our  eyes. 
We's  heah'd  de  trump  er  freedom  blow,  an  follerin' 

de  soun' 
We  seen  er  mighty  rootin'  up,  an'  heap  er  drappin' 

down. 
De  wicked,  like  de  green  bay  tree,  is  troubled 

wid  er  crash ; 

De  proud  er  heart  done  fly  befo'  great  flingin'  up 
er  trash. 


Speech   of   the  Rev.   Gabriel   Gizzardfort  103 

De  prodigal  whar  tended  horgs  an'  tuk  an'  eat  de 

hus' 
Is  fyarly  travellin'  down  de  road,  an'  kickin'  up  de 

dus'. 
He  smell  de  cookin'  far  erway,  'an  'cep'  he  break 

er  shaf , 
He  gwine  git  home  'fo'  supper  time,  an'  eat  de 

golden  calf. 
Yas,  tek  de  mule,  hitch  up  yo'  team,  grab  hoi'   de 

drivin'  line; 
Don'  be  erf  eared  er  spillin'  out,  jes'  go  'long  whar 

you  gwine. 

Rejoice  I  say,  my  Bretheren — my  Sisteren  rejoice— 
Go  git  yo'  harps  like   David   done,  an'   mek  er 

joyful  noise. 
Behol'  an'  lo,  de  bottom  rail  is   whar  de   folks  kin 

see; 
De  yaller  dorg   is   nosein'   roun'   whar   p'inters   used* 

ter  be. 
De  coons  ain'  scared  er  nothin'  'tall,  an'  sho'ly  ez 

you  born, 
De  coal  black  crows  is  cawin'  loud  an'  pickin'  up 

de  corn. 
Yea   verily,    we's    frisky   now,    we   kinder    feels    our 

oats, 
An'   ev'ywhar   dyar's   heap   er   folks   what   want   ter 

buy  our  votes. 

Up   in   New  York  an'   Boston,   too,  dey's  sellin' 
mighty  nice, 


IO4  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

But  roun'  'bout  Philadelphia  we  gits  de  bigges' 

price. 
So  what  de  use  er  stayin'  hyer  whar  'tain'  no  chance 

ter  trade ; 
I  allus  leaves  at  'lection  time,  an'  gits  my  'spenses 

paid 
At   all   de   polls    in   dat    dyar   place,    de   town    er 

Brother's  Love, 
I  changes  coats,  I  gits  er  name,  an'  gives  a  vote 

er  shove. 


Astronomical  Observations  105 


ASTRONOMICAL  OBSERVATIONS. 


You  see  dem  niggers  walkin'   dyar,  dey's  all  jes' 

gwine  one  way, 
Dey  'spec'  ter  heah  Ole  Jasper  preach   erbout  de 

Sun  ter-day. 
What !  you  ain'  larn  de  sun  do  move,  and  Jasper 

'splain  all  dat? 

Well,  you  sho'  ain'  no  Richmond  man !     Whar- 
bouts  is  you  live  at  ? 

When  ole  man  Jasper  'nounce  de  tex' — he  allus  does 

dat  fus'— 
He  looks   so   full   er   argyment   you    'spec'    his   haid 

gwine  bus'; 

But  when  he  'rassle  wid  larn'  folks  he  jes'  on- 
loose  his  tongue, 

An'  show  he  got  de    underholt,    an'    dem    folks 
gwine  git  flung. 

My  gal,  Malindy's  one  dem  kind;  she's  done  been 

ter  de  school, 
An'  claim  she's  studied  'stronomy,  an'  Jasper  is  er 

fool. 
She  'lows  dat  she's  too  good  ter  wuk — dat  shows 

what  larnin's  worf — 
She  calls  de  risin'  er  de  sun  "rosation  er  de  yearth." 


io6  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

I  gin  her  what  John  Jasper   say,   its   truth,    Suh,   I 

be  boun' 
Dat  ev'ything  gwine  spill  right  out  ef  dis  hyer  yearth 

tu'n  roun'. 
She  kinder  laugh  an'  den  she  'nounce  dat's  some'n 

she  kin  'spoun'; 

It's  grabbity,  grabs  hoi'  er  things  when  we's  tu'n 
upside  down. 

I  stop  her  dyar,   I   'sputes  dat  p'int,   kase  hue-come 

dat  gwine  be? 

In  all  de  time  dat  I  done  'zis',  it  ain'  grab  holt  er  me. 
She  love  ter  projec'  wid  dem  things  folks  looks 

through  at  de  stars, 

An'  dyar  wuz  one  out  on  de  street  she  claim'  wuz 
p'int  at  Mars. 

I  ax  de  man  how  much  he  charge',  he  say,  "Fi'  cent 

fer  one." 
An'  den  I  look  straight  up  de  thing  same  ez  I  shoot 

er  gun. 
I  tuk  so  long  he  wan'  ter  know  ef  I  wan'  seem' 

sights, 

But    I   'spon'    back,   dat   all   I    see  wuz   poles   an' 
'lec'ric  lights. 


Astronomical  Observations  107 

He  tell  me,  "Ef  you'd  shet  dat  eye  you'd  see  er 

small  red  ball." 
I  shet  my  eyes,  an'  time  I  did,  I  ain'  see  nothin' 

'tall. 
I  don'  trus'  dem  dyar  enstruments  an'  men  de  like 

er  dat 

Whar  claims  dey  'lustrates  stars  an'  things,  an' 
cyar'n  p'int  whar  dey's  at. 

I  heah  dey  measures  ter  de  sun,  an'  say  it's  b'ilin' 

hot; 
I  let  'em  know  I  wan'  ter  see  de  tape-line  whar 

dey's  got; 

An'  ef  it  re 'dies  ter  de  sun,  I  jes'  wan'  ax  'em  den, 
Ain'  dat  hot  sun  gwine  scotch  de  man  whar  climb 
dyar  wid  de  en'? 

Ize    cert'ny    glad    dat    Jasper's    hyer    ter    'splain    all 

'bout  de  skies, 
Kase  ef  he  wan'  er  heap  er  folks  would  'cep'  dem 

mons'us  lies. 
Ize  done  convert  dat  gal  er  mine;  I  done  it  dis  er 

way, 

I  gin  her  all  de  rope  she  wan',  I  let  her  say  her 
say, 


io8  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

But  t'other  mornin'  Lindy's  ma  wuz  grumblin'  mighty 

heap, 
An'  say  ter  me,  "Does  you  know,  Si,  dat  gal  is  still 

ersleep?" 
I   holler,    "Why'nt   you  git   up   gal,   an*   go   'long 

feed  de  cow?" 

An'  I  keep  thinkin'    ter    myself,    "My    patience 
'zausted  now." 

She  answer,  sorter  sleepy  like,  "It's  strange  dat  you 

cyar'n  see 
Dat  folks  is  'bleege  ter  sleep  right  late  when  study'n' 

'stronomy." 
I  tuk  an'  fotch  er  hic'ry  switch,  an'  den,  I  lay,  I 

prove 

Dat   when   de   sun's   er-movin'   up   dat   nigger's 
gwine  ter  move. 


John  Jasper,  a  negro  preacher,  famous  in  Virginia  for 
his  sermon,  "The  Sun  Do  Move." 


Dat  'Lecric  Cyar  109 


DAT  'LECRIC  CYAR. 


It  ain'  no  use  er-takin'  time  ter  projec'  wid  er  mule, 
De  man  whar  does  dat  in  dese  days  ain'  better'n 

er  fool; 
Per  things  done  change,  I  know  dey  is,  ain'  I 

done  see  it,  Suh? 
An'  ploughs  an'  cyarts  gwine  run  erlong  jes'  like 

de  'lec'ric  cyar. 
Don'   nothin'   pull   er   shev'   dem  cyars,   an'   still   dey 

fyarly  fly; 
De  driver  don'   say,   "Come  up,   mule!"   an'   "Gee!" 

an'  "Wah !"  an'  "Hi !" 
I  git  on  one  de  other  day — dat  'speyunce  gwine 

ter  las'— 
Dey  don'  suit  me,  aldo'  dey  mout  dem  whar  wan' 

go  'long  fas'. 
De  man  whar  stan'  up  in  de  front  he  tu'n  er  kinder 

thing 
Dat  look  jes'  like  er  grind- stone  crank — de  bell  go 

ting-er-ling ; 
Den  'twuz  I  feel  er  mons'us  juck — it  fling  me 

down  right  flat — 
It  come  so  quick  I    holler    out,    "My    Marster! 

What  wuz  dat?" 

I  up,  an'  grab  er  little  rope  ter  keep  frum  fallin' 
down, 


no  Ole  Marstcr  and  Other  Verses 


But  ev'y  time  I  pull  de  rope  de  bell  would  mek  er 

soun'. 
De  en'  wuz  tie'  onter  er  clock  whar  didn'  run  er 

tick, 
But  den  de  ban'  on  dat  ar  clock  would  kinder 

jump  down  quick. 
Er  man  say,   "Leggo  dat  ar  rope,  an'   lemme  have 

yo'  fyar." 
He  talk  so  peart  I  say  ter  him,  "I  ain'  done  nothin', 

Suh !" 
"You  is — you's  gone  an'  rung  fi'  fyars."     Dat's 

what  he  had  ter  say. 
Two  ten  cent  an'  er  fi'  cent  piece  I  good  ez  fling 

erway. 
I  'uz  pestered  kase  I  pull'  dat  rope,  an'  I  'uz  skeered 

too, 
Per  some'n  underneath  de  flo'  wuz  gwine  zoo-woo- 

woo, 
I  done  heah  tell  dat  b'ilers  bus',  an'  ingines  runs 

erway, 
An'  cyars'  chock  full  er  folks  an'  things,  git  smash' 

up  ev'y  day; 
An'  dem  what  don*  git  kill'  right  den  gits  bline  an' 

deef  an'  dumb — 
An'  standin'  dyar  I  mighty  'feared  dis  nigger's  time 

done  come. 

I  tuk  an'  light  out  fer  de  doh,  an'  on  de  flatform 
dyar, 


Dat  'Lecric  Cyar  in 


De  man  wan'  stop  me,  but  I  say,  "Tu'n  loose  an' 

gimme  a'r!" 
I  tuk  an'  jump,  but  some'n  'peared  ter  tu'n  me  roun' 

an'  roun', 
An'   'fo'   I   know   it   I   done   made  de   'quaintance   er 

de  groun'. 
I  'uz  sorter  daze',  an'  look  ter  see  whar  'bouts  my 

hat  done  went, 
But  I  wan'  hit  'cep'  in  de  haid,  an'  dat  jes'  git  er 

dent. 
De  man  whar  made  dem  'lec'ric  cyars,  you  heah  me, 

wuz  "Ole  Scratch"— 
De  fire  come  poppin'  out  de  wheels  same  ez  you 

light  er  match. 
An'  so  it  is,  jes'  like  I  say,  tain'  pull'  by  nothin' 

'tall ; 
Dey's  tuk,  an'  shev',  right  out  de  way,  de  nigger, 

mule,  an  all. 
An'  you's  done  heah  dat  prophecy,  dat  now  sho'  is 

come  true, 

"When  white- folks  'spenses  wid  de  mule,   de  nigger 
gwine  go  too." 


H2  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 


SEEING  THE  CIRCUS. 


Boom !     Boom !     Boom !     Hi !     Don'     you     heah     de 

drum? 
Boom !     Boom !     Boom !     Run   hyer !     Yarn'   dey 

come! 

Tek  an'  clim'  up  in  de  tree.    Don'  you  git  no  fall, 
Kotch   er   holt   like   possums   does,   den   you'll   see 

it  all. 
Boom!      Boom!      Boom!      Dey'll   be   nigh   ter   us 

soon. 
Boom!     Boom!     Boom!     Why  don'  dey  play   er 

chune? 
Watch   dat   lady   comin'   now,    man   suh!   dat's   er 

sight ; 
All  her  clos'   is   made  er  gol'!       Am'   she  shinm' 

bright? 

Dat  ar  gem'man  by  her  side,  you  heah  me,  he's  de  boss, 
I  knows  it  kase  he  'pears  so  proud  er-settin'  on  de 

horse. 
Hyer  come  de  ban' !    I  'spec'  'twill  play,  I  wants 

ter  heah  de  crash. 
Oh !  dat  big  man  whar  beats  de  drum  gwine  mek 

dem  cimlins  clash. 

Ta-ra!  Ta-ra!  Ta-ra!  Ta-ra!  Dyar  'tis,  Oh,  dat's  de 
soun' ! 


Seeing  the  Circus  113 


Ta-ra!    Ta-ra!    Ta-ra!    Ta-ra!    Dey's    talkin',    I    be 

boun*  I 
'Tain'  none  de  ban's  in  dis  hyer  town  kin  kick  up 

dat  ar  fuss. 
Dem  Dutchmans  blowin'  er  de  horns  is  blowin'  fit 

ter  bus*. 
Am'  dat  er  chune  dey's  playin'  doh,  dey's  got  it 

down  right  fine. 
Ef    I    could    play    dem    enstruments    I    lay    I'd    jine 

de  line. 
I  wish  dat  nigger  walkin'  dyar  would  tek  an'  drap 

de  drum, 

I'd  go  an'  ax  de  Cap'n-man  ter  lemme  tote  it  some. 
I'd  git  in  dat  ar  nigger's  coat,   I'd  look  like  some'n 

gran', 
I'd  cotch  de  step,  an*  mark  de  time  same   ez  er 

little  man. 
You  heah  dem  lions  in  de  cage?    Dey'd  kill  folks, 

dat  dey  mout, 
I  hope  de  doh  is  lock'  up  tight,  so  day  am'  gwine 

git  out. 

Dey's  got  de  bigges',  sharpes'  teef  dat  I  is  ever  see; 
I  let  you  know  Ize  sorter  glad  Ize  settin'  up  er 

tree. 
Ole   elephant   gwine   flop   his   ears — he  travelin' 

mons'us  slow, 
I  'spec'  he's  got  so  fat  an'  big,  dat's  fas'  as  he  kin 


H4  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 

Dyar  he,  right  dyar !     You  mus'  be  blin' !     What 

is  you  talkin'  'bout? 
Ain'  none  de  critters  got  two  tails;  de  fus'  tail  is 

de  snout. 
What  dat  de  lady  on  de  cage  got  wrop'  all  roun' 

her  naik? 
Hyer,  drive  'long  dyar!  Tek  dat  thing  'way!  Good 

gracious  what  er  snake! 
Don'   stop   right   under   dis   hyer  tree!      Oh   me,    de 

lim'  done  break! 
My  Marster !     Ef  I  hits  de  cage  tplease  lemme  'scape 

dat  snake ! 


A  Fire  Insurance  Policy  115 


A  FIRE  INSURANCE  POLICY. 


I  ain'  gwi'  fight  de  devil  wid  fire; 

I  don'  wan'  git  no  nigher 

Den  er  thousan'  mile 

Ter  de  burnin'  pile 

Er  tar  an'  pitch  an'  kerosene  ile. 

I  don'  wan'  face  de  congregation 

Er  all  damnation 

In  conf  igation — 

I'd  burn  ez  hot 

Ez  a  light-wood  knot. 

Er  same  ez  a  match 

Rubbed  'ginst  "Ole  Scratch." 

Nor  Suh,  my  son, 

I  teks  an'  run 

Jes'  time  tem'tation  starts  de  fun. 

I  ain'  de  kin' 

Ter  allus  fin' 

I  kin  lick  Satan  wid  strength  er  min'. 

One  time  "Ole  Sin" 
Come  trompin'  in 
Wid  a  glass  er  gin, 
An'  he  say  ter  me — 
Say  he — 


n6  Ole  Marster  and  Other  Verses 


"It's  time  ter  begin. 

You  knows  de  tas'e  an'  you  knows  de  smell, 

An'  you  knows  mighty  well 

You's  boun'  fer  Hell; 

So  drink  yo'  dram, 

An'  don'  give  a  dam'. 

I  cotches  yo'  eye — Here's  ter  you,  Sam !" 

He  look  at  me  an'  I  look  at  him, 

An'  I  knowed  fer  sartin  my  chance  wuz  slim ; 

An'  den  he  say — "Oh,  don'  be  'feared, 

'Tain'  nothin'  'tall  ter  mek  you  skeered. 

I  wish  you  wealth,  an'  I  wish  you  joy — 

Come,  drink  ter  de  health  er  'Mister  Ole  Boy' : 

Kotch  hoi'  de  glass  an'  heave-er-hoy," 

Den  some'n  nother  said  ter  me — 

"Ef  you  wan'  ter  be  free 

You  better  mosee. 

It  ain'  no  use 

Ter  mek  excuse; 

You  jes'  vamoose, 

Kase  hyer  come  Want  an'  hyer  come  Doubt 

Projec'in'  'bout; 

You  better  light  out." 

Den,  sho's  you  born, 

Dis  nigger  wuz  gone. 

He  run  down  de  trac' 

Wid  er  clickerty-clac', 

He  did  fer  a  fac', 


A  Fire  Insurance  Policy  117 

He  never  look  back. 

An'  down  ter  dis  day 

When  de  devil's  ter  pay 

He  gits  out  de  way, 

An'  dat's  why  he's  hyer  er  sayin'  his  say. 

Thar'fo',  good  people  one  an*  all, 

Harken,  an'  heah,  an'  heed  de  call  ; 

Ac'  like  er  man, 

Tek  yo'  foot  in  yo'  han', 

An'  run,  an'  run,  an'  run,  an'  run, 

An'  ef  you  run 

Like  I  done  done 

You'll  soon  fin'  out  de  fight  is  won. 

Er  ef  you'll  run  jes'  half  ez  good 

Satan  won'  have  no  kin'lin'  wood, 

But  back  ter  Hell  he'll  have  ter  turn, 

An'  say — "  'Tain'  nothin'  lef '  ter  burn ; 

We'll  have  ter  cook  wid  what  dyar  is." 

An'  den,  I  lay,  it  ain'  no  doubt 

All  perdition's  gwine  ter  shout — 

Oh,  go  'long  'way !  What  dat  you  say  ? 

We's  nigh  'bout  friz — 

Hell  fire's  tuk  an'  gone  right  out." 


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